


Come What May

by Batsutousai



Series: Our Sinner's Redemption [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Edward Elric Swears, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Multi, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Series Spoilers, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-15 13:51:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 183,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5787622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsutousai/pseuds/Batsutousai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Promised Day, with his alchemy still intact thanks to Hohenheim's sacrifice, Ed finds himself and his chimera team getting dragged into the shadowy world of military secrets in an attempt to keep Bradley's legacy from causing a civil war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaim Her:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Arakawa Hiromu and various publishers. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
>  The first scene is pulled from the SquareEnix sub for episode 63 of the Brotherhood anime. It's not exact – I changed some of the wording because the translation's actually quite clunky, but the dub just sounds false to my ears ^.^" – and I changed part of it for the plot, but, yeah. Not mine. XD
> 
>  **A/N:** Sometimes, you just need that headcanon where Ed didn't lose his alchemy after all, and I wasn't going to actually use the idea I had for why Ed kept his alchemy, mostly because I knew it would probably have to be Ed's PoV and I prefer Roy, except then my muse shoved the scene with Grumman (happens near the end of this chapter) in my face and wouldn't back off until I gave in and started writing it.  
>  So this is it, and I have no idea where it's going, except that Ed is fucked with so much survivor's guilt and he decides to deal with it the same way he's always done, which is to help other people.
> 
> This was originally intended to be one long run of fic, but I was complaining to my mum about how long my NaNo fic was (took a break from this to write that) and she suggested splitting it, which wouldn't really work for the NaNo fic, but I realised it would work for this one. So part one is the first 20 chapters of what I had written. Part two is probably about a third done, and will probably remain that way until my NaNo fic is done. (Sorry, not sorry.) I have some tentative ideas for a part three, but you'll have to wait until I start posting part two to find out if that's gonna work out or not.
> 
> There's a fair bit of travelling around in this fic, and I ended up using Rairyuuken's map (found in their scraps folder on deviantArt) for most of my city names, because I'm too lazy to create my own map to keep track of which names I used for where.
> 
> Note about the pairings can be found in the second chapter's A/N, to keep this one from becoming any longer.
> 
> You can also read this at [Fanfiction.Net](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11747112/1/Come-What-May), [tumblr](http://batshieroglyphics.tumblr.com/post/137828472269), or [LiveJournal](http://batsutousai.livejournal.com/341661.html).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  [](http://batsutousai.deviantart.com/art/Come-What-May-cover-584510552)   
>    
> 

_"Edward," Hohenheim called, and Ed looked up at where Teacher was supporting him, pulled from his panicked thoughts, his panicked searching for what he could **possibly** use to bring Al back. "Use my life, and bring Alphonse back."_

_The world just sort of...froze. Hohenheim couldn't possibly..._

_"There's exactly one person's worth remaining."_

_He was. He fucking **was**! And after he'd just said he and Al had promised never to use a Stone. "Idiot!" Ed shouted at him. "There's no way I could do something like that! It's our fault, as brothers, that we lost our bodies! I absolutely will not use human lives to get Al back! And why should you need to put your life on the line?!" he added, pointing a shaking finger towards the bastard, a distant part of him still surprised to see flesh where once there'd been steel._

_"Because I'm his father," Hohenheim interrupted, said it like it was the most obvious fucking thing in the world._

_Ed swallowed, his hand falling back to his side. This wasn't– He wasn't–_

_Why?_

_"This isn't about need, or reason," Hohenheim continued. "You're both dear to me, and I want you to be happy."_

_Happy?_

_"By neglecting you, I do bear some responsibility for your bodies ending up the way they are." His head dropped, his expression changing, looking almost like he was going to cry, like he– Like he **cared**._

_No. No, he couldn't. How could this bastard, this man with his cold fucking eyes who had walked away from them, who had left them, who had–_

_"I'm sorry."_

_No._

_"I've lived long enough," Hohenheim said, holding up a hand between them, it shook as much as Ed's had, more. "At least let me act like a father once before I die."_

_And, like it was trying to prove his point, the marks on his skin, of alchemy done with no finesse, no **time** for finesse, multiplied over the skin on the back of his hand; the sign of an alchemic construction falling apart._

_Ed's mind, traitor that it was, was already going through the calculations: the rate of decay, the amount of damage Hohenheim had been repairing, his age, the way he **couldn't even fucking stand up on his own**._

_Hours. Hohenheim had...hours._

_Ed met those eyes, gold as his own, read the desperation in them, the need to do something, do **anything** , because this was all he had left to give, because he couldn't live with the knowledge that he could have helped, that he could have saved someone, and he hadn't. It was the same desperation that had once led Ed to sacrificing everything to bring Al back as armour, had kept him fighting against corruption, had made him the People's Alchemist, had brought him back to Central in spite of..._

_Ed swallowed his anger, knew Al would probably never forgive him for this, and closed his eyes. "Okay," he whispered._

_"Thank you."_

-

Ed opened his eyes to the sterile white of his hospital room, the scent of antiseptic tickling his nose. Hohenheim's gratitude was still echoing in his ears, following him from his dreams, and Ed reached up carefully to brush away the tears in his eyes. He should have argued, should have insisted Hohenheim had to be there to hug Al when he was back, should have– Should–

Ed took a deep breath and forced himself to sit up, gritting his teeth against the ache of his body, the pull of a dozen healing wounds. He didn't want to think about Hohenheim any more, dammit. He didn't want to remember that he'd traded his own fucking father–

Ed clenched his fists, let the shock of pain from the hole in his left arm and the reminder of the surgery to remove the automail in his right shoulder centre him, drag him back from that slippery slope. He needed a distraction. Desperately. 

He glanced over at the other bed, gave himself a moment to watch the gentle rise and fall of his brother's chest. It was easier when Al was asleep – he often was, recovering from almost six years of exile to the other side of the Gate – because then Ed couldn't see the disapproving twist of his mouth, the reflection of gold eyes so like Ed's own, so like Hohenheim's. But, still, the silence between them was heavy, a living thing built of too much time living in step, of knowing Al would always be there, awake and understanding, sharing Ed's shame, his sins, but now... 

At least Ed had never had to explain where Hohenheim had gone, what he'd done; they'd all three been on the other side of the Gate, staring at each other across the expanse between Ed's Gate and Al's. Al's eyes had widened, showing he'd understood, and Hohenheim had touched Ed's shoulder, a silent 'thank you' that Ed couldn't never be grateful enough that he hadn't said aloud. And Ed had forced himself to turn, to watch as his Gate opened, as Hohenheim stepped calmly past that smiling, smirking, _fucking_ –

Ed ground his teeth together and forced himself to stand, slipping into the hospital slippers that had been resting just under his bed. He didn't fucking care if he was on bedrest, his legs were fucking _fine_ and he couldn't just sit there and continue to–

Who else was in hospital that would be willing to serve as a distraction for Ed? Major Armstrong had been released not long after being admitted, and if Ed bothered the major general, he was as likely to get stabbed as he was to find someone willing to distract him. Ling, Lan Fan, and May had already left back to Xing, refusing more than the most basic of medical care, and Teacher and Sig had followed their example, heading back to Dublith as soon as they were sure Ed and Al would be okay (and would come visit once Al was strong enough to get thrown against a wall, because Teacher had a weird way of showing affection). 

He supposed there were the chimeras. He didn't know much about the toad and the boar, but he could pester Darius and Heinkel. Darius was especially fun, given how snarly he got when Ed called him Mr Gorilla. (Which, seriously, hadn't the idiot figured out by now that Ed only did that to get a rise out of him?) 

Which reminded Ed of someone who got a kick out of pissing _him_ off, which, well, it took being stuck with Greed, who was far less subtle about pissing Ed off to get him to do what the bastard wanted, for the whole winter for Ed to figure out why Mustang was always pushing his buttons. Because Ed probably wouldn't have bothered with writing any reports if Mustang hadn't brought his handwriting into it, would have refused a handful of missions if Mustang hadn't started commenting on his height before Ed could get all the information, might have actually found out more about his billion sources of information if the bastard hadn't taken such pleasure in dangling his near omniscience over Ed's head, mocking him about how 'it's so hard for anyone to miss you, despite being so tiny'. 

Ed clenched his fists, old irritation brushing away the sick sense of guilt that had been clinging like a limpet at the bottom of his windpipe, and he knew he'd found his target for the day. 

Right as soon as he found the bastard. 

It took almost half an hour, dodging at least a half-dozen medical staff that would have sent him back to bed, and almost running straight into Fuery, before Ed found out where Mustang and Hawkeye were, sharing the same room only two rooms down from Ed and Al's, which was... Okay, so, if Ed had gone the other way when he slipped out of his room, he'd have found them a lot faster, but he'd seen a nurse stepping into one of the rooms that way and had gone the other. 

"Edward?" Hawkeye recognised first, after Fuery had left him outside the door – he'd apparently just been visiting and needed to get back to helping with the clean-up efforts – and Ed had pushed his way in. She was sitting up in her bed, white bandaging stark around her throat, and had a book in her lap, which Ed suspected she'd been reading before he'd stepped in. 

Mustang's head turned towards the door, his eyes closed, and Ed felt a little bit of guilt climbing back up his throat at the reminder that the bastard was blind and being a jerk to him was just... "Fullmetal?" he called, frowning. 

"Yeah," Ed got out, his voice rough. He cleared his throat, tried to force the guilt back down, even though he already knew how tenacious it was. "Hey, Lieutenant. Colonel." 

"Edward," Hawkeye said, her voice disapproving, and Ed saw her looking at the bandaging wrapped...well, Ed had a lot of wounds in spots that the hospital wear didn't cover. Sue him. "Shouldn't you be in bed?" 

Ed huffed. "My legs are fucking _fine_."

"You're never going to heal if you're always pushing yourself," Mustang pointed out, his voice flat. 

And, just like that, a flash of irritation shoved the guilt out of the way again. "Oh, don't even fucking _start_ with me, bastard. You'd be out of bed same as me, if you could actually see–" And then his brain caught up with his mouth and he snapped both it and his eyes shut. 

Ah, guilt. Lovely to see you again. 

"Thank you for that wholly unnecessary reminder," Mustang said, his voice still flat. "Did you want something?" 

Ed looked toward Hawkeye, admittedly a little weirded out by the colonel's complete lack of emotion, but he found her watching Mustang with very obvious concern. "Lieutenant?" he whispered. 

She looked over at him, her eyes tired, and shook her head. 

"Go back to your room, Fullmetal," Mustang said, turning back toward the window. There was a hint of emotion in his voice that time, and Ed tensed when he recognised defeat. 

"What the fuck?" he heard himself say, starting across the room, towards where Mustang was tensing. "What the actual fuck is this? Are you actually fucking–"

Mustang turned back towards him, his face turned just a little too far to Ed right, and he said, "Get ou–"

Ed grabbed the front of the bastard's hospital shirt with his left hand, his wound screaming, and dragged Mustang forward and up, even as Hawkeye shouted, "Edward, stop!" 

"Don't you fucking _dare_ give up on me, you bastard," Ed snarled into Mustang's face. "Weren't you going to fucking _fix_ this country? Weren't you going to the top?" 

Mustang smiled at him, edged with something broken. "A blind Führer?" he asked quietly. 

No. Ed would not– He was not going to sit here–

Rage made Ed drag Mustang from his bed, ignoring Hawkeye ordering him to stop and the way Mustang's eyes finally opened, going wide with panic as he found himself with no bed to support him and had to scramble to get his feet under him, his bandaged hands grabbing Ed's shoulders for balance, not quite gentle enough, and Ed gritted his teeth against the scream of his right shoulder. "Get up," Ed ordered, the words coming out a little too tight from pain. "You've got two fucking legs, that's more than me, and you don't see me fucking _wallowing_. Get the fuck–"

"Let me go, Fullmetal," Mustang ordered, and there was a hardness in his voice, something like a spark of life. 

Ed bared his teeth in a parody of a grin. " _Make me_ ," he challenged, and dragged Mustang back a few steps, away from his bed. Notably, Hawkeye had fallen silent, and he caught a glance of her watching him, her eyes intent, but otherwise impossible to read. 

"Fullmetal," Mustang said again, fear under the steel in his tone, and the hands on Ed's shoulders tightened, making Ed clench his jaw. "Stop this nonsense right now." 

Ed let go and pulled away, ducking the hand that reached after him, and he knew it was mean, but this was _pathetic_ and his shoulder fucking _hurt_. Mustang was left standing in the middle of the floor, the wall within easy reach to his right, if only he knew to reach for it, the feet of the beds well out of reach. "Now what?" Ed asked. "You can probably shout for a nurse, get one to lead you back to bed. Take the easy road. Because, you're right; after a fucking _monster_ , who could _possibly_ want a man who has to ask for help back to bed–"

Okay, in all honestly, the last thing Ed had expected was for Mustang to lunge at him, right hand fisted enough it _had_ to hurt. He took the hit, which landed against his chest, figured he deserved it, and he didn't really want the bastard to actually hurt himself because he'd missed Ed and overbalanced. He caught the man's shoulders as Mustang hissed, "Shut _up_. I don't need to be lectured by a _child_."

"Yeah," Ed returned, "you kind of do. Are you done being pathetic?" 

"I was not–!" Mustang started, and there was _life_ in him again. 

Ed grinned, felt a little like he'd managed to defeat a part of his guilt. "Good," he declared, before forcefully spinning Mustang around until he was facing the end of his bed, keeping a tight grip on the bastard's shoulders while he regained his equilibrium. 

"Fullmetal!" Mustang shouted. 

"Yeah, yeah. Five– No, sorry, four abnormally long steps forward is the end of your bed. The top rail's just below hip-height." He squeezed Mustang's shoulders. "You got that?" 

Mustang took a deep breath, held very still for a moment, then gave a quick nod. "Four normal-length steps," he offered as a correction, and Ed didn't have to look to know the bastard was smirking. 

"I will push you," Ed threatened, not that he actually meant it. 

Mustang snorted, then started forward, leaving Ed behind. His steps were careful, measured, but steady. He stopped after four, reached down to touch the railing of his bed, then followed it to one of the corners. From there, he took two easy steps down the length of his bed, left leg pressed tight against the mattress and bed frame, before turning and sitting down. 

Ed glanced towards Hawkeye and found her smiling at him, looking honestly grateful. He shrugged, embarrassed, and looked back at where Mustang was shifting carefully across his bed, his fingers reaching for the edge of the small table on the other side and – Ed assumed – the glass of water sat in the centre of it. "Colonel," he called, and Mustang paused, looking towards Ed. "You made me a promise. Break it, I'll punch your lights out for real." 

Mustang gave him a quiet, helpless smile, the same one Ed remembered from a conversation in his car, held over a handful of loose change. "A blind Führer, Fullmetal?" he repeated, and while he sounded less defeated, more alive, it was clear this was going to be a hang-up for him. 

Ed considered that for a moment, then shrugged. "About as likely as a twelve-year-old State Alchemist with two automail limbs, wouldn't you say?" 

Mustang blinked, and then his smile eased and he straightened. "It seems," he offered, and there was a hint of the familiar sarcastic lit to his voice, "that I'm being challenged to one-up a rather small–"

"Oh, fuck you, I'm a perfectly respectable height!" 

Okay, so, acknowledging that Mustang used his height against him didn't actually keep Ed from responding to it. 

Hawkeye let out a very loud, very obvious sigh. "How is Alphonse?" she asked, bringing a very obvious end to their bickering. 

Guilt tickled at his throat, but Ed swallowed it down and shrugged. "Okay. He's sleeping a lot, making up for lost time. Sometimes, when he first wakes up, he just sort of sits there and pets his sheets or the bed frame or whatever. It's kind of funny." He forced a smile, hoped it didn't look as false as it felt. "Doc says, once he's awake more than he's asleep, we can head back to Resembool. Eat that apple pie Winry promised she'd have waiting for us." His smile came easier, thinking about the pie. 

"Have you called her?" Hawkeye asked, and it was clear from her tone that she knew he hadn't. 

Ed cleared his throat and scuffed his hospital slipper against the floor. "Not yet," he admitted. 

"Go do that." 

"I was going to–"

" _Now_."

Ed sighed, giving in to the inevitable. At least calling Winry meant he didn't have to go back to Al so soon, he guessed. "Yeah, okay. I'm going." He glanced towards Mustang, found him looking in his direction with his head tilted to one side slightly, expression wiped carefully clean. "Don't make me come back here and drag you out of bed again, Mustang," he ordered. 

Mustang's mouth quirked at one side. "I shall endeavour to keep your threat in mind," he promised. 

Ed rolled his eyes – pompous fuck – then left with a faint wave, which he actually sort of regretted when his wounds twinged, and he really hoped he hadn't reopened anything while dragging Mustang around. 

Actually, no. He was okay with having opened something, just so long as he got his point across. Just so long as the bastard stopped fucking whining about his lot in life and got on with it. Because Ed had got used to the idea of Mustang as Führer, of him turning their country into a democracy, of making this somewhere to be proud of coming from. And then maybe Ed could shove that in Ling's fucking face next time he started singing Xing's fucking praises. Fucking 'pillow-talk' his _dick_.

Ed sighed and refocussed his thoughts as he reached the closest phone. He picked up the handset and gingerly settled it between his cheek and left shoulder as he quickly dialled the familiar number. 

_"Rockbell Automail,"_ Granny said when she picked up. 

"Granny!" Ed called, and he hadn't realised how much he'd needed to hear her voice, to know that they were okay, out there in Resembool. Fuck, it was like a massive weight off his shoulders. 

_"Ed?"_ Granny recognised, and Ed heard a clatter through the connection. _"Oh, thank god. When you didn't call..."_

"Sorry," Ed offered, slumping back against the wall and staring across the floor blankly. "I didn't–" He sighed. "Al and I are headed home soon as we're released from hospital." 

_" 'We'?"_ Granny repeated, and there was a world of questions in that word. 

Ed felt himself smile, but it ached, ached like he didn't have the right to smile, to be happy, to be _proud_. "Yeah," he said, and he was glad the word came out so easily. "Al's sleeping right now." 

_"Thank god,"_ Granny said again, and the relief in her voice just made Ed's chest clench. 

She'd understand, he realised. Granny had been Hohenheim's friend, but she was old enough, had seen enough, that she'd understand why he'd given in to that bastard's plea. And he _desperately_ needed someone to tell him he'd done okay, that Mum – that _Al_ – would forgive him. Because Teacher had tried, had said she understood, that he just had to give Al time, but it was _hard_ when Al lay there so silent. "Granny–" he started, before he heard Winry's voice, at a distance and too garbled to make out the actual words, but it still cut him off because he– Because–

He cleared his throat. "I'll ring you when we're ready to leave, let you know when we'll be back in Resembool," he offered, then quickly hung up. 

He knocked his head back against the wall and turned to stare up at the ceiling, a part of him expecting Granny or Winry to ring back, to tell him off for just _hanging up_. But they didn't, and he was left again with a crawling mass of guilt in his throat, unable to help remembering, again, every minute shift of Al's expression as he realised what Ed had traded for him, as they returned to the real world and Al had opened his eyes, had stared at Ed for a long moment, then turned away. 

He was startled from his thoughts – fucking _nightmares_ – by someone falling into him. Ed caught them on automatic, opened his mouth to snarl at them that they needed to fucking _watch it_ , but he found golden-blond hair, the same shade as his own, and wide, half-panicked eyes just as gold. "Al?" he breathed, tightening his grip as he felt his brother's unsteady legs giving out. "What the fuck? You're supposed to be in _bed_!"

"So are you," Al told him, but he sounded completely exhausted, and Ed could make a pretty good guess what the trip from his bed and down the hall had cost him. 

With a distant acknowledgement that he was going to regret this later – hand-in-hand with the knowledge that there was _nothing_ that Ed wouldn't do for Al – he shifted his grip on his brother and picked him up with a grunt. 

"Brother!" Al hissed, clinging to Ed's neck for dear life. "You're not supposed to be–"

"Shut up, Alphonse," Ed ordered through gritted teeth, and Al obediently fell silent. 

Thankfully, it really wasn't that far back to their room, and while Ed's arms would probably never forgive him, his legs were just fucking _fine_ , in far better condition than Al's, so it took him very little time to make it to Al's bed and carefully set him down on it. 

"You're bleeding," Al informed him as Ed carefully straightened the blankets and pulled them back over the frail form. 

Ed glanced at his left arm first, which looked fine, then to his right shoulder and, yeah, there was blood showing through there. He shrugged, biting back a wince as pain snapped at him. "It's nothing," he insisted, and ignored his brother's frown to ask, "Why were you out of bed?" 

Al went from disapproving to hunched in on himself in record time, and Ed felt a thrill of very real fear as he sat gingerly on the edge of his brother's bed and covered his hands, which were huddled together in his lap, with his own hand. "Al?" he prodded gently, and he didn't fucking _care_ that his voice shook. 

Al took a shuddering breath, then quietly explained, "I had a...a dream, and it was– You didn't– It wasn't...Dad. It was you, who walked through the...the Gate. And I woke up and you were–"

_Gone_.

Ed closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Al," he offered. "I was just–" Just what? There was no way he could possibly tell Al he'd been feeling shitty and decided to go piss off the fucking colonel, because Al would remember right off that the bastard was blind and Ed really didn't need to deal with _that_ disapproving silence on top of the Hohenheim one, so, second option: "–calling Granny and Winry, you know? Figured we should probably let them know we were okay, that we're coming back soon as we can." 

Al's hands twitched under his. "That's...unlike you, a bit, Brother," he offered, and his expression, when Ed peeked up at him, was somewhere between surprised and proud, and Ed was _really fucking glad_ that he'd left out visiting Mustang. 

"Yeah," he agreed, and barely remembered to only shrug his left shoulder before he moved his right shoulder again. "If they start checking me over for alien abduction or some shit when we get back, I expect you to protect me." 

Al blinked once, then let out a laugh that sounded a little rusty. "Idiot," he said, and it sounded so fucking _fond_. It was the break in the silence that Ed had been desperate for and he felt–

That mass of guilt caught in his throat, choked him even as tears sprung to his eyes. "I'm sorry," he got out, and it dragged through him like serrated steel. 

"Brother?" Al whispered, and his hands twisted in his lap, caught the hand that Ed had covered them with. "Broth– Ed, I–"

"I'm sorry," Ed said again, and it came out a little easier, slipped through the ruin the previous words had left behind. 

Al pulled away from his hand, shifted along the bed and leant forward, wrapping his arms around Ed, and it was the first fucking hug – the first _warm_ hug – between them since...since... 

Ed choked on a sob and wrapped his arms back around Al in return, pressed his face against the crook on his neck and didn't even fucking care that he was supposed to be stronger than this, because this was _Al_ , and he'd fucking _missed_ him. Apart for months, not even getting a fucking chance to really _talk_ because they were throwing themselves back into danger, watching Al fucking _sacrifice himself for Ed_ , and then this...this empty silence between them. 

Ed wasn't strong enough for empty silences. Not when then were between him and Al. 

"Teacher told me," Al whispered, once Ed didn't feel quite so much like he was drowning in guilt, "that you tried to, that you turned down Dad, the first time, but he...he made it his dying wish, and you–"

"Agreed," Ed finished quietly, gathering himself as he pulled back, tried to hold around himself that strength that had got him through too many tragedies. "Yeah." He met Al's gaze, was grateful when he didn't find anything to flinch away from save the colour, the reminder of the man he'd sacrificed, the parent he'd killed. Because, despite how much of a shit father he'd been, no matter the fact the Ed would _never_ forgive him for abandoning them, there was no denying that Hohenheim had been Ed and Al's father. 

"Do you...regret it?" Al asked. 

Ed frowned. Did he? Did he regret trading that good-for-nothing bastard for Al, the light of his fucking life? Did he regret trading the relief that he hadn't killed Mum a second time, for the knowledge that he'd knowingly killed his father? Did he regret breaking his word and using another's life to bring Al back? "I don't know," he settled on, because, as guilty as he felt, he wasn't sure it outweighed the simple fact that he hadn't lost Al. 

Al considered that for a moment, then nodded. "Good," he decided, before drooping slightly. 

Ed knew that body language, was familiar with it in himself, and he gently pushed Al back down to his pillows. "Go back to sleep, Al," he ordered. 

Al pressed his mouth into a stubborn line and struggled to sit back up. "Not until you call for a nurse," he insisted, then set about flailing his hands at Ed when he gave up playing nice and forcefully shoved Al back down. 

"For fuck's sake, Alphonse," Ed complained, rolling his eyes. "I'll go get a nurse, but only if you stay laying down. Deal?" 

Al huffed, but stopped trying to shove Ed's hand away. "Fine. Go. Now." 

"I'm gonna fucking trade with Mustang and you can mother-hen _him_ ," Ed muttered, and Al flailed his hands at him again, but there was a smile in his gold-gold eyes, and Ed felt his own mouth twisting with a smile that felt unfamiliar as he went to wave down a nurse. 

-0-

Sometime the next afternoon, while Ed was helping Al manage his flatware – and stealing bites of his food, earning him smacks and irritated complaints in equal measure – Fuery poked his head in the door. "Hey, Ed. Al," he called, smiling a bit tiredly. 

"Hey, Fuery!" Ed called. 

"Are you okay?" Al added, before smacking Ed's hand as he tried to sneak a bite of his peas. 

Fuery let out a laugh. "Yeah. Tired. Colonel's got me running errands for him. Wanted to see you, actually, Ed." 

Al sighed. "What did you do, Brother?" 

"Nothing!" Ed insisted, and he knew he'd said it too fast, knew _Al_ knew he'd said it too fast, and realised he was going to have to make his escape now, or he was going to be telling Al everything and that was–

Right, so, escaping. 

He jumped to his feet, even as Al warned, " _Brother_."

He tapped Fuery lightly on the shoulder as he slipped past him. "Tag. Watch Al for me. Take a nap on my bed. Something," he insisted, and Fuery's laughter developed a grateful edge as it trailed him down to Mustang and Hawkeye's room. 

Ed pushed his way inside, only keeping from kicking the door because he wasn't fucking repairing it and because Hawkeye was in there too, and declared, "I'm not your fucking _do_ –" He stopped, staring at the piles of books that had appeared overnight in the space between Mustang and Hawkeye's beds. "–the fuck?" 

Hawkeye let out a breath that sounded suspiciously relieved, then held out a book to Ed, her finger caught between the pages. "Read to him. Please," she requested, and her voice sounded like it hurt. 

Ed took the offered book, frowning, and opened it up to the page Hawkeye had been marking while she reached for a half-empty glass of water on the small table next to her and drained it. He glanced the book over, eyes catching on a couple of familiar words – farming, irrigation, soil health – from his childhood. Nothing a colonel in the military – a man reaching for the Führership – should be interested in. Had he misjudged Mustang's mood when he left the day before? 

"Any day now, Fullmetal," Mustang ordered, and Ed glanced up to find the bastard sitting up straight in his bed, his arms crossed over his chest, expression imperious. 

"Fuck you," Ed snapped, looking back down at the book. "I'm not your fucking–"

_Ishval_.

Ed snapped his mouth shut, staring down at that word, realising...understanding... "You're going back," he murmured, raising his eyes and stepping closer to the stacks of books, seeing titles of law books, books on Ishvalan culture, books about their food, about how to safely build buildings in the desert, and how to find water. "You're going to rebuild Ishval." 

Mustang was tense when Ed looked back up at him. "Yes," he said when Ed just kept staring at him, waiting for an answer, because he was learning the strength of silence. "We never would have managed without them, without Scar. It's right, giving them their homeland back, and Führer Grumman already agreed." 

Ed blinked at that; he hadn't realised they'd promoted someone to the seat, though it made sense that they'd want a Führer as quickly as possible. And, given he was the highest ranked general who'd survived the Promised Day, he would be the best candidate. That he'd been working as an ally to Mustang and the rest of them meant Ed was actually...pretty okay with that. He'd met Grumman in East Command a few times and didn't mind him, though he wished the man hadn't developed that irritating habit of referring to Ed by his assumed military rank, rather than his title, given that Ed had never had any sort of military training and held very little stock in his rank. 

"Good," he decided, slipping a finger between the pages of the book he held and closing it around it. "Lieutenant, your glass?" 

Hawkeye looked momentarily surprised, but handed it over with a small smile even as Mustang demanded, "What are you waiting for, Fullmetal?" 

"I'm getting the lieutenant more water, you impatient bastard. Hold your fucking horses," Ed snapped back, and he was kinda sad that Mustang couldn't see the grin on his face, because, oh, Ed had been saving up that line since the first time he'd heard about the breed of horses called mustangs. 

Hawkeye coughed into her hand, very obviously hiding a laugh, and Mustang sighed. "Cute. Thank you. I've never heard that one before," he said drily. 

"Do you want me to read your book?" Ed demanded as he brought the refilled glass back to Hawkeye. 

"Thank you," she whispered, and he offered her a smile. 

Mustang let out an irritated sigh. "Fine. Ha-ha." 

Ed rolled his eyes. "Have I mentioned today that you're an absolute bastard?" he asked as he opened the book back up. Before Mustang could respond, he started reading, and the bastard let out a huff before settling in to listen. 

It was...strangely soothing to read the book out loud. A little slower than Ed would have liked – he processed things far quicker than he could verbalise them – but he'd always had very little interest in learning about farming, no matter the culture, so he didn't have the urge to skip ahead. Instead, he found himself falling into a headspace that pushed away his guilt, the faint ache of his shoulder and arm, the fear that Al might still be angry with him for sacrificing Hohenheim. There was nothing but the flow of words. 

So it really wasn't a surprise, when he'd reached the end of the book, to find that most of the day had passed. His throat felt a little rough, but someone had clearly brought him water at some point – there was an empty glass on the floor next to him, not that he remembered either sitting down or drinking the water – and if it weren't for his stomach's pointed demand for food, he might well have picked up the next book in the stack and kept on, because that had been...nice. 

He cleared his throat and carefully pushed up, wincing as his body complained about the change in position after so long sitting unmoving. "Yeah, so, bit dry there, Colonel," he commented, keeping his voice quiet because Hawkeye had apparently fallen asleep at one point, and waking her would be asking to be shot. 

Mustang blinked in his general direction. "I expect most of these will be dry," he admitted, following Ed's example in keeping his voice down and motioning towards the piles of books, nearly knocking into one of them. Then he grimaced and offered, "Thank you. I hadn't meant to keep you from Alphonse for quite so long–"

"Nah." Ed waved it away. "Like I said yesterday, he's sleeping most of the day. Wake him up for meals, maybe talk for a bit–" well, okay, that part was new, just like Al actually letting him help with his food, rather than asking a nurse to do it "–then he's right back to sleep. Little boring, honestly." He tapped his fingers against the cover of the book in his hand. "Didn't think about asking someone to run by the library for me." 

Mustang snorted. "I'm sure you've already read everything in there." 

Ed grinned. "Not everything. Not these," he pointed out, before glancing between the stacks and Hawkeye's sleeping form. "I guess it's useless to ask you if there's any organisation to these stacks." 

Out of the corner of his eye, Ed saw Mustang's mouth tightening, and he couldn't help but feel a little bad for his callousness, but he also didn't think tiptoeing around a disability did anybody any good, and he should fucking know. 

"No," Mustang bit out. "But as Second Lieutenant Falman wasn't involved, I don't expect there to be any sort of order." 

"That's true," Ed muttered, looking over the mess of titles. "Fine. You got a pile for finished books?" 

"...No," Mustang decided, frowning. "Hawkeye reads slower than you do." 

Ed huffed and walked back to his spot against the wall to set the finished book down there. "News flash, blind man, she sort of has a neck wound." 

"I _know_ that," Mustang hissed back, his expression twisting with something very familiar to Ed: Guilt. 

He stood there for a moment, staring at Mustang as he collected himself, replaced his blank mask, and Ed had to wonder what had happened between when he'd been dragged down to the Dwarf in the Flask's inner sanctum and when Mustang had been forced down after them. 

He shook his head. "I'll come by after lunch again tomorrow," he offered, and surprise flashed across Mustang's face. "Don't fucking look at me like that, you bastard. I told you, it's boring staring at Al all fucking afternoon, and the lieutenant needs a break from being your reader. Just pick a less tedious book next time. Unless you're aiming to put her to sleep in the afternoons, in which case–"

"Be quiet, Fullmetal," Mustang ordered, and Ed flashed him a grin the bastard couldn't see. "Go back to your brother." 

"Yeah, yeah. Ask for a pitcher or something when they bring your dinner by." 

Mustang frowned. "Why?" 

"So she doesn't have to wait for someone to come by and refill her water for her." 

"I–" Mustang stopped, blinking a few times. "Ah. Right. I'll do that." 

"Night, bastard!" Ed offered, before leaving the room back for his own. 

Fuery had left at some point while Ed had been gone, but dinner was in the process of being delivered around, and he found Al awake and fighting with his flatware on his own, while another tray sat next to Ed's bed. Ed paused for a minute, debating, before giving it up as a bad job and walking over to take the fork from Al's shaking fingers. "Hey," he offered. 

Al blinked at him. "You were gone a long time," he pointed out, before accepting the mouthful Ed held out to him. 

"Yeah, sorry about that. Colonel Bastard's got Hawkeye reading to him, 'cept you know her throat's not the best right now, and it's really fucking hard to read a book and refill your water at the same time, 'specially when you kinda can't tilt your head forward, right?" 

Al dodged the next mouthful, his eyes practically dancing with laughter. "You were reading to the colonel?" 

"Yup," Ed agreed, and Al finally accepted his food. "All about fucking Ishvalan farming, of all the shit to waste my afternoon with. Told him he's gotta pick something more interesting for tomorrow." 

Al blinked at him and brought up a hand to stop the fork so he could swallow, then ask, "You're going back tomorrow?" 

Ed swallowed. "Yeah, if that's okay? I mean, if you'd rather I stayed here, I can totally do that, but–"

"No, it's fine," Al was quick to assure him. "I'm okay with that, really. I know I'm kind of boring right now. Just, please, please promise me you won't antagonise him." 

"Can't make that promise," Ed admitted, and Al sighed before accepting his next bite. "I can promise, though, that I won't go overboard. I'll try." Except for yesterday, but Mustang had clearly needed that push. Fuck, even Hawkeye had seemed to agree by the end. 

Al rolled his eyes. "Just don't get court-martialled," he muttered around a mouthful. 

Ed let out an exaggerated gasp. "Alphonse Elric! Don't talk with your mouth full! Were you raised by wolves?" 

Al just pinned him with a flat look. 

Ed grinned. "Do as I say, not as I do?" 

Al grabbed his fork away from Ed. "Go eat your own dinner before I throw my milk at you," he threatened, and Ed made a strategic retreat, deciding Al could figure out his own fucking flatware. 

-0-

The next day, Ed found himself reading about Ishvalan culture, which was actually pretty interesting. He finished it well before dinner, and settled onto the stool next to Mustang to quietly debate some points with him – Hawkeye had fallen asleep again, and Ed couldn't help but wonder how much it must suck to have a roommate who couldn't tell time – while he attempted to organise the piles of books a little bit. 

The following morning, the nurse who came to collect their breakfast trays was accompanied by Grumman, and she quickly scurried about her business while Grumman offered a cheerful smile and a, "Major Elric, Mr Elric. It's good to see you both looking so well." 

"Führer Grumman," Ed returned in his blandest tone possible, and Al hissed, " _Brother_!"

Grumman's smile just widened a bit. "Do you mind if I sit?" he requested, motioning to the uncomfortable hospital chair that Ed usually sat in to help Al eat, while the nurse scurried out with their empty food trays. 

Ed shrugged. "Be my guest." 

Al sighed, and Ed wondered why he actually bothered trying to make him be polite to the ranking members of the military. Also, Mustang. (Okay, being honest, it was usually Mustang. Because Ed had rarely had opportunity to be rude to anyone higher ranked than a major, other than Hughes, which he suspected was Mustang's doing, and a damn good strategy for someone who was aiming for a promotion and had a particularly rude subordinate.) 

Grumman settled easily into the chair, looking for all the world like it wasn't nearly so uncomfortable as Ed knew it was, and turned his focus on Ed. "Given some of Brigadier General Mustang's comments–"

"Of _course_ he got a promotion," Ed complained, mostly to hide how weirdly _pleased_ that fact made him. 

"–I would have expected to see your resignation on my desk, Major," Grumman finished, seeming not to notice Ed's interruption. 

Ed blinked at that. "My resignation?" he repeated. Because...what? 

Grumman nodded. "Indeed. I was under the impression that you'd got all you'd wanted from the military. Mustang certainly thinks you intend to resign; he was quite surprised to learn that you haven't submitted anything." 

Ed blinked again, his mind scattering in a thousand different directions. Quit the military? 

Well, yeah, okay, so he'd got Al back. That was the only reason he'd joined the military to begin with. If he'd met his goal a year ago, he'd have turned in his resignation before going to hospital, wouldn't have cared about the bloodstains he might have left on the paper. But now? 

He wanted to see Mustang to the top. Felt like he needed to be there, keep pushing him when everyone else tiptoed around his disability. He didn't want to lose the friendships he'd formed with Fuery and Breda and Havoc (even if staying with the military meant nothing in terms of his friendship with Havoc), didn't want to walk away from his arguments with Mustang, or Hawkeye's way of making them shut up. 

Too, there was a sense of responsibility: the Dwarf in the Flask had been born from Hohenheim, same as Ed. Hohenheim and the Dwarf in the Flask were both gone, but the scars from their centuries-long misdeeds weren't so easy to wipe away, and Ed wanted to help fix it. He wanted to keep helping his people, keep making things better with his own two hands, because maybe then his sins would sit a little lighter on his shoulders; it had always worked in the past. 

But then there was Al. Al, who had no ties to the military – who Ed didn't _want_ to have ties to the military – and who had to be Ed's priority. 

Al, who could clearly read Ed's fucking mind, because he said, "Could Brother be on an extended leave? I mean, he's got to have some saved up, right? He's never taken any of it before, not even when he _should have_."

Ed rolled his eyes. "Get off my back about that, already." Fuck, you break a couple ribs on a mission and everyone seems to think you need to take fucking leave to heal back up. 

Grumman gave a considering nod. "I can't give you anything more than a year," he cautioned, and Ed shrugged; he didn't expect it to take a year for him to figure out if he needed to stay with Al or join back up. "Either choice, you'll have to return to Central Command." 

Ed frowned. "Not wherever Mustang is? Ishval, I'd guess; it's closer to us than Central." 

Grumman shrugged. "If you're intending to resign, you can certainly file the paperwork through Mustang, though it may take a couple months to make it back to Central, and I wouldn't want to see your name on the list of defectors again because you cut it close." 

Ed winced. "Right, sure. But if I stick with you lot? I should just be able to go back to Mustang, right? Get whatever shit job no one else wants to touch?" Al sighed, but didn't comment on that. 

Grumman's mouth twitched. "Normally, yes," he agreed. "However, given recent events and your very necessary part in them, you're due a promotion to Lieutenant Colonel." 

Ed stiffened, while Al breathed out what was almost assuredly a curse. "I'm a State Alchemist," he pointed out, forcing the words past his suddenly dry throat. "I'm not a fu– I'm not an _officer_. I've never _been_ –"

Grumman's gaze was steady as he pointed out, "If you return to the military, Major, it's not to use our resources for your own means any more, it's to be a part of us. You're an officer." 

"I'm not–" How could he possibly explain that he wasn't officer material? Ed didn't work in groups, didn't order people around. He just–

"Second Lieutenants Darius Wright and Heinkel Potez seem to think you have what it takes to be an officer," Grumman added. "Though, Wright did comment that you have a problem with remembering names." 

Ed huffed. "Darius doesn't know how to take a fucking joke. Greed was like...a thousand times worse than me." Well, okay, so he'd made a point to use Darius and Heinkel's names, but he only ever used Ed's name when shit was serious, and he had other...habits that caused hang-ups. 

"Brother," Al moaned. 

"Anyway, those two didn't need me. All I ever did was get them into more trouble." 

"They seemed to think that you saved their lives at great risk to your own while they were still your enemies." 

Ed set his jaw; he didn't want to talk about the mineshaft or using his own soul as a Philosopher's Stone, had no interest in letting Al find out how close he'd come to death. (Though, if he was being honest, the first time he took off his shirt and Al saw the matching scars, he was going to be explaining it. But that wasn't now.) "So what?" he asked, and his voice came out tight. "I don't like killing – hell, I'm gonna bet that's in my fucking file somewhere – but that doesn't make me fucking officer material. Ask Mustang." 

Grumman's smile was irritatingly knowing. "Be that as it may, you have earned a promotion, and that requires officer training. It's a twelve week course, held three times a year, starting the first Mondays of January, May, and September." 

Ed shook his head. "What if I refuse the promotion?" he asked, because he knew that was always an option, and as willing as he was to stick it out with the military – to hold onto that one little bit of familiarity left over from before – he really couldn't see himself as an officer. He didn't lead people, _couldn't_ lead people, not when he knew all too well the sort of dangers he'd put himself and Al through; he could take it, had already walked through hell, and Al had been more than durable enough, but others? 

Grumman considered him, and Ed felt a little like all of his concerns were written across his face. "Nothing will change," he allowed at last. "However, if I might be frank?" 

Ed blinked, surprised and intrigued, and leant forward. "Please." 

"You are going to do Mustang a lot more good as an officer than you will as a wild card." 

Ed sat back, feeling that comment like a slap in the face; Grumman was a lot sharper than he'd thought he was. "Right," he heard himself say, his voice a little faint. 

_Damn_. He was going to have to go through officer training, wasn't he? And that meant–

Ed rubbed a hand over his face. "Uniform. Ugh." 

Grumman and Al both let out chuckles, and Ed shot his brother a glare, the _traitor_.

"Major," Grumman called, and Ed turned back to him with a scowl. The man's eyes practically twinkled as he commented, "No matter your rank, if you return to the military, you will be picking up a uniform and wearing it in all command buildings." 

Ed stiffened, shaking his head. "They don't fit–" he started, citing what Mustang had originally told him when Ed had, with much distaste, asked if he'd have to wear one. 

"We have always cared a uniform in your size," Grumman interrupted, and Ed's mouth snapped shut as his eyes widened; Mustang had...lied to him? "Brigadier General Mustang put in a request that you be exempt due to your age and your habit of travelling with a civilian, and Bradley granted it." 

"Oh." 

Grumman chuckled. "Did you honestly believe the military unable to accommodate varying sizes? You're familiar with Major Armstrong, I believe?" 

And Ed was an alchemist, perfectly capable of resizing a uniform on his own, if it had been necessary. He'd just been so angry at Mustang commenting on his size – manipulating bastard – and fucking _grateful_ that he didn't have to wear the damn thing, that he'd never questioned the fact that he was exempt. Fuck, Fuery had only been a little taller than him, and built much slimmer, and Ed had never thought to question the fact that he'd had no trouble getting a uniform that fit. 

"I'm aware that the uniform doesn't suite your fighting style," Grumman added, "and many of the missions you've been sent on in the past were better served being given to someone out of uniform, so getting you a uniform has never been a priority and, should you return, I have no qualms about you continuing to wear civilian clothing on missions, but you will be required to don the uniform while on base. Even if you're only coming in for a briefing." 

Ed sighed and nodded. It made sense, he supposed. He'd always known he stood out while walking through various military compounds, and fuck alone knew how much easier it would be to get other members of the military to listen to him if he actually wore the fucking thing, rather than having to dig out his pocket watch and wave it in their faces. Still, the idea of wearing a uniform was as distasteful to him as officer training, and he _knew_ that was because he disliked the military, was only willing to stick it out so he could push Mustang up. 

What was it that Ed had told himself when he'd decided to join the military five years ago? _'Sometimes, the only way to fully clean your hands, is to use more dirt.'_

Grumman stood with a dramatic groan. "A productive talk, Major Elric," he declared, pinning Ed with a smile that left him just a little bit concerned about his future. "I expect to see you some time before next spring." 

"Yes, sir," Ed agreed, resigned. And then he grimaced at how much like a good little soldier he had sounded. 

Grumman chuckled and nodded to Al. "Mr Elric." 

"Führer," Al replied politely and they watched as the man left the room. Once the door had closed behind Grumman, Al said, "You want to stay with the military." 

Ed closed his eyes and dropped back onto his bed. "Not until you're better." 

Al was quiet for a long moment, doubtless turning that response over in his head, trying to find some untruth. "I want to travel to Xing, when I'm strong enough," he said, and Ed glanced over at him. "Visit May. See her home. Maybe learn alkahestry." He looked at Ed, then, expression troubled. "I want to see the world." 

"Good," Ed heard himself say, without even realising he was going to. Al's brow furrowed, something that looked suspiciously like hurt darkening his eyes, and Ed pushed himself back up into a sitting position, hurrying to explain, "You _should_ go to Xing, Al. Spend time with May, learn alkahestry, irritate Ling for me." 

" _Brother_ ," Al complained, and Ed knew it was more because of the 'irritate Ling' bit than anything else. 

Ed shook his head. "Whatever. See the world," he settled on. "Live _his_ legacy." Al's eyes widened, and Ed had to look away. "I'll be here, with Mustang and them. Give you somewhere to come home to." 

"You're going to live Mum's legacy," Al suggested quietly. 

Ed shrugged his left shoulder. "Sure. Except I'm still going to be here when you show your ugly face again." He flashed Al his best shit-eating grin. 

Al rolled his eyes. " _Your_ ugly face," he shot back, and they both laughed. 

After they'd both settled again, Al laying back like he was going to sleep some more, he asked, "Brother?" 

"Yeah?" 

"You have to write." 

Ed grimaced and looked down at his hands. He hated writing things for other people, knew it looked like chicken scratch because he sucked at writing with his left hand. But he had his right hand back now, and this was _Al_. "Okay," he agreed. "Monthly letters. Both of us. You tell me about Xing and everywhere else you go, I'll keep you updated about Amestris." 

Al held out his hand between their beds, fist clenched. "Deal," he agreed. 

Ed reached out and knocked his brother's fist with his own. "Deal." 

It wasn't until after Al's breath had evened out into his sleeping rhythm that it really occurred to Ed that, yeah, he'd just decided to keep on in the military, and Teacher was probably going to kill him, assuming Winry didn't get to him first. 

Strangely, he couldn't feel anything but relieved.

.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few time skips in this chapter, because I didn't feel like writing filler, so...
> 
> Also, so, I have this headcanon that Greed was omni-/pansexual, and because he's freaking _Greed_ , he wants all of the sex in all of the ways and Ed and Darius and Heinkel were stuck with him for at least four months, so they got roped into a lot of weird orgies and shit. Given that, Ed's got a weird relationship with Darius and Heinkel, which shows in their interactions, especially in this part of the series. While I intend this series to eventually be Ed/Roy, you only get hints in this part. (Part two is when they'll actually get together.)
> 
> So, I admit, I waffled over the age of consent for a while. My American upbringing says 18, but given Amestris is loosely based on a mesh of Western European nations, and the age of consent there ranges from 14 to 16 (17 in Ireland), I settled on a soft 16 (technically, in the canon of this series, Ed was 15 the first time he had sex). That said, I don't intend to let Roy and Ed sleep together until Ed is at least the latter half of 17, if not 18.  
> Which isn't to say Ed is abstinent, because he's not. But Ed/Roy is the only porn you'll actually see on screen in the main part of this series. (Side-shots, however, will run the gambit, and I'll be posting those on AO3 and LiveJournal when the chapters they're attached to go up; more on that in chapter four.)
> 
> It occurs to me that I never actually added to the warnings that Ed suffers from panic attacks. (I swear it makes sense when you think about it; I'm surprised more of the characters _don't_ have some sort of psychological disorder. Sort of. Okay, not really. There's way too much a stigma about that making people weak. :/ ) There's one in this chapter, and they'll be a bit sporadic throughout the series. I'll try to remember to put a note at the top of any chapter they show up in, but sorry in advance if I miss one.

About an hour before lunch, Ed left his sleeping brother a note and wandered downstairs to the room he'd found out the chimeras were staying in. Since Heinkel had somehow been mostly healed – Al had mentioned Dr Marcoh, when Ed had asked him after finding out the lion chimera had been released already – after being left behind, that left only Darius, Jerso, and Zampano to be stuck in hospital, and they'd all ended up in the same room. (Ed could see the sense in that, given they were the only three human chimeras left, so far as he was aware. Honestly, he'd half expected them to have high-tailed it as soon as the fighting was done, rather than chance getting corralled as science experiments.) 

When he reached the door, Ed kicked it open – he could fix it, and he'd spent long enough thinking over what Grumman had said to be a little irritated with the gorilla – and called, "Darius! Which of you fuckers told Grumman I was officer material?!" 

There was the sound of something weighty hitting the floor, then Jerso and Zampano broke out into sniggers as a half-naked Darius jumped to his feet on the far side of one of the beds and shouted, "That door was _locked_ , Ed!" 

Ed snorted and closed the door behind himself. A clap and a brief thought had the broken lock and door frame fixed, then he turned on the part-gorilla, who was scrambling to step into his trousers. "Seen it," he reminded the man, and Darius scowled at him, but slowed down. 

"We both did," Heinkel said, and Ed turned to find him standing in the doorway of the attached bathroom, dressed in the familiar white shirt and trench coat ensemble that made up his preferred civilian wear. "Are you sticking with the military?" 

Ed huffed. "Yeah. After Al's stronger. Why do you even fucking care, traitor?" 

"Oiy!" Darius snapped, stepping around his bed and waving a finger at Ed. "We got pardoned for that shit!" 

Ed rolled his eyes and jerked his thumb at himself. "Traitor to _me_ , monkey-brain." 

"You wanna fight?!" Darius roared, to the clear amusement of Jerso and Zampano. 

Ed considered that, then raised his fists. "Yeah. Let's go." 

"Stop it," Heinkel ordered, stepping between them and putting one hand against Darius' chest. "Ed's wounded." 

Darius let out an irritated noise, but relaxed back. "It's not like we sold you out," he muttered. "When you're not being childish, you're a fine commander." 

"Bit unconventional," Zampano added, before Ed could tell Darius where to shove that shit, "but you get things done." 

"And you care," Jerso added, and Ed was beginning to realise that they were all against him. "The military needs more commanders that care. If Zampano and I were willing to stick it out in the military, we'd want under your command, same as those two fools." 

Ed stared at the group, feeling honestly thrown. "I– Wait, what?" He focussed on Heinkel and Darius. "Under my command?" 

Heinkel turned so he was fully facing Ed. "We told the Führer we'd only re-enlist if we could serve under you." 

"Are–" Ed had to stop, swallow a block that tasted like guilt and gratitude. "Are you two fucking _insane_?!" he shouted. 

"Yes," Darius agreed, and Ed honestly couldn't tell which of them his mocking smile was aimed at. "Other than the military, what is there for us?" 

"Jerso and Zampano want to find a way to get rid of their animal halves," Heinkel added, his voice gentle, almost kind. "Darius and I, you know we're happy the way we are, but there's not many positions out there for chimeras. So we talked it over and decided, if you were going to stick it out, we'd stay with you." 

"After all," Darius added, and his mocking tone was definitely aimed at Ed that time, "someone has to drag your tiny arse away from the guns." 

"That was _one time_!" Ed shouted, fighting against the inexplicable urge to hug himself. "You won't get– I won't let–" He stopped, gasping for a breath that wouldn't come, while his mind raced off in that terrible direction of broken bodies, of all the things that could go wrong, that could rip even these two arseholes to shreds. 

"Ed!" Heinkel and Darius called, and Ed felt arms around him, bulky and familiar, before he was sat on the edge of a bed, those same familiar hands keeping contact, giving him something to focus on. 

" _Breathe_ , kid," Heinkel was ordering from in front of him, his hands on Ed's knees, while Darius' hands were a solid weight on his shoulders. "You're having an attack." 

Ed wrapped his arms around his middle, leaning forward and crushing them between his thighs and abdomen, closing his eyes so he could focus on taking slow, deep breaths, and the steadying warmth of life from these two idiots. "Fuck," he got out once his heart had stopped trying to beat its way out of his chest. " _Fuck_." He _hated_ these fucking attacks, wished there was a way to get them to stop, that he wasn't so weak that the mere _thought_ of his own bad choices endangering someone else set him off. (It could be worse, he knew, they could trigger in the heat of the moment, but the fact that they didn't was a cold comfort when held against the fact that he was pathetic enough to suffer them in the first place.) 

One of Darius' hands moved down, rubbing circles over his back, and Ed sat up slowly. "You gonna be okay?" 

Ed felt his jaw lock, and it was a real effort to force out, "I am not going to be fucking responsible for leading you two to your deaths." 

"Don't sell us short," Darius snapped. 

Heinkel sighed and gently tapped the side of Ed's leg until he looked at him, distracting him from reacting to the forbidden 's'-word. "Ed, is Al going to keep with you?" 

Ed shook his head. "Fuck, no. He's going to Xing." 

Heinkel blinked at that. "Right. So, next time you get sent on one of your ridiculously dangerous missions–" because Ed had told Heinkel and Darius (and Greed and Ling) about some of his adventures while they'd travelled together "–who's going to have your back? Who's going to pull you out of the next mineshaft?" 

Ed ground his teeth together, hating that the man had a point. 

"Equivalent exchange, right?" Darius asked, something like kindness in his voice. "We keep you alive, you keep us alive. Keep us out of any labs." 

"Anyone tries turning you into a fucking experiment, you fucking punch them in the face and run for it," Ed snarled, turning to glare over his shoulder at the huge idiot. "I thought I explained that shit to you already, monk–"

Heinkel reached past Ed and shoved Darius' shoulder, and the part-gorilla overbalanced and fell over backward, off the bed. "Grow up. Both of you," he said tiredly, while Zampano and Jerso roared with laughter. 

"Heinkel!" Darius snarled, jumping to his feet. 

Heinkel sighed. "Ed, you're stuck with us. We told you, didn't we? Our animal instincts say we're good right where we are." 

"Last time your animal instincts said that," Ed returned drily, "you almost got killed by Pride." 

"Almost," Heinkel agreed, before he pressed a finger against Ed's chest. "But you stopped him." 

"We got lucky," Ed tried. "If old man Fu hadn't had flash bombs–"

"Those flash bombs weren't what stopped Pride from finishing me off," Heinkel interrupted. 

Ed brought up his very much flesh right arm between them. "That's not going to fucking work any more," he hissed. 

"What was it you used?" Heinkel returned, undeterred. "Carbon, right? So carry around a chunk of it in your pocket and transmute it into a glove next time you need to deflect a hit." 

"That–!" Ed stopped, blinking. "Oh." That was...actually pretty genius. Maybe not a chunk of carbon in his pocket, but work carbon into the fibres of a jacket or shirt or something, spread them out for regular wear, and then focus them into a glove or wherever when he needed it, sort of like how Greed shifted the carbon in his body around the part he needed to protect. Maybe carry a diamond in his pocket in case he got caught without whatever clothing he's got the carbon worked into? 

"Great," Darius rumbled as he came around the bed and shoved Heinkel. "Now you've given him some sort of crazy-fool idea." 

"Fullmetal," Jerso called, and Ed glanced over at him, his mind still running calculations of how large a diamond he'd need to serve as a good-sized glove. "Al's going to Xing?" 

It took Ed a moment, but he managed to switch mental tracks. "Yeah. Said he wants to study alkahestry. Travel some outside our borders. Why?" 

Jerso and Zampano traded looks. "We want to get our bodies back," Jerso offered. "Al's the one who told us to keep at that dream, but neither of us know much of anything about alchemy. Figured we could maybe stick with him, see if he couldn't find a way to help us. Watch his back in exchange." 

It took Ed about point zero two seconds to get attached to that idea; as much as he didn't want Darius and Heinkel putting themselves in danger by following him around, he wanted Jerso and Zampano sticking with Al, keeping him safe. Which, yeah, he was a complete and utter hypocrite, but he also knew Al didn't quite have his skill when it came to getting caught up in dangerous situations, which meant he was less likely to get his travelling companions stupidly killed. "Yes," he said, pointing at them. "I'll talk to him, get him to agree." 

"Maybe one of us should talk to Al," Darius said in a faux whisper. "Get him to talk Ed into–"

"Fuck it, _fine_!" Ed snapped, turning to glare at the part-gorilla. "If you're really that fucking attached to following me into danger, go for it, but I'm not going to listen to your shit when you end up stuck in hospital. We clear?" 

"Sure thing," Darius agreed, and Ed wanted to punch the victorious smile off his face. 

Someone knocked on the door and a voice ordered, "Open up!" 

All of them stiffened and turned to stare at the door, Ed and Heinkel both getting to their feet. Zampano, being the closest, stepped over and opened the door, revealing two military police with a wide-eyed nurse standing behind them. "Can we help you?" Zampano asked, his tone cool. 

"We got reports of shouting and violence from this room," the lead MP said, staring up at the blond man with a hard expression. "This is a _hospital_ , animal, not–"

"Hey!" Ed shouted, vaulting over the bed and stalking towards the door while the four chimeras stiffened. "The fuck's your issue? You don't go around calling people fucking animals!" 

The MP turned his hard stare on Ed, but before he could say anything, his partner realised, "You're the Fullmetal Alchemist." 

"Major Elric!" the nurse called from behind the MPs. "You're supposed to be in _bed_!"

Ed swore he heard Darius whisper, "Busted." 

Ed threw a glare over his shoulder, just in case, then focussed on the MPs. "Yeah, I'm Fullmetal. What of it?" 

"This matter doesn't concern you, sir," the leading MP said stiffly. 

"The fuck it doesn't," Ed snapped back. "I'm the one who kicked in the door and was shouting. You got a beef with the noise, you talk to me." He glanced at the man's shoulder, checking his rank, because he may not hold much stock in that bullshit, but that didn't mean he didn't know how to use it against military-minded people who were trying to pick a fight with him. "We got a problem, First Lieutenant?" 

The man's jaw clenched. "No, sir." Because State Alchemists had always been beyond the purview of the MPs, given their particular ability set made it difficult for any non-alchemist to serve as more than a brief distraction when they lost their shit. 

"I didn't think so." Ed turned towards Zampano, who had only moved out of the way just enough to let Ed past him. "You lot heading out?" 

Zampano nodded. "That was the plan," he agreed carefully. 

"Major!" the nurse said again, pushing through the two MPs, who looked a bit lost. " _Bed_."

"Right after I see my friends out," Ed insisted, scowling at her. When she opened her mouth to argue with him, he added, " _Look_. My legs are fucking _fine_. I don't need my arms to walk them downstairs. Unless there's some crazy shit going on with both the lifts and the stairs that you need to tell me about?" 

"No," the nurse allowed, scowling herself. 

"Yeah." Ed smiled at her, didn't care that it came out a little rude, then glanced back and jerked his head at the room's occupants. "Time to go." 

None of them had any personal belongings with them – Ed hadn't expected them to, considering they'd all come directly from a battlefield – so they quickly filed out behind Ed, stepping stiffly past the scowling MPs and nurse, before forming up around Ed like some sort of human barrier. 

"And you said you aren't officer material," Darius said, a world of amusement in his voice. 

Ed let out an irritated sigh. "Shut up." 

He waited until they were in the lobby before grabbing Darius and Heinkel's arms. "Hey. Soon as Al's strong enough to make the journey, we're leaving for Resembool. I'm on leave until he's strong enough to head for Xing, then I'm back in Central." 

"Do you want us to come with you to Resembool?" Heinkel asked, both of them watching him with serious expressions, Jerso and Zampano standing a couple steps away with similar expressions. 

Ed shook his head. "I don't care what you do with yourselves, but if you're going to stick it out once I've slogged through fucking officer training–" Darius snorted. "Yeah, shut the fuck up, Grumman's not giving me a choice. But if you're going to stick with me, you leave me a way to get in contact with you." 

"We're staying at the Central Rose Hotel," Heinkel offered. "Darius and I are in 307, Jerso and Zampano are in 312. If you've got paper, I can write down the number." 

Ed shook his head. "I know it." 

Heinkel nodded. "Ring us when you're heading back to Resembool and we'll talk plans then." 

"Central's nice and all, but I'm not so sure about kicking back around here for however long it takes your brother to build his strength back up," Darius added with an unapologetic shrug. 

Ed snorted. "You follow us to Resembool, I can pretty much guarantee you'll get roped into the harvest come autumn." 

"Yeah, yeah. Good exercise." 

"We'll see," Heinkel said before lightly touching Ed's left shoulder. "Take care of yourself, Ed." 

"You too," Ed replied, knocking his fists lightly against both of their arms. "Don't make me have to break into any labs for you arseholes." 

"Lay off about the labs," Darius complained. "Are you _trying_ to give me a complex?" 

"Tempting," Ed admitted. 

Heinkel sighed and herded Darius and the other two chimeras from the hospital before they could start another shouting match in the lobby. Which was probably for the best. 

Ed went back upstairs to his and Al's room and spent lunch filling his brother in on what-all he'd covered with the four chimeras. Al seemed honestly pleased to hear that Darius and Heinkel would be sticking with Ed, and didn't seem to mind the idea of Jerso and Zampano going to Xing with him. 

"It'll be nice having someone to travel with," he admitted. "I mean, they're not _you_ , but they're not bad travel companions." 

Ed offered a sad smile to that. "Yeah." He sighed and clicked his fork against his plate. "I wish I could say it'll be a change, but–"

"I know." 

They traded helpless looks, then went back to their food. 

After he was done eating, Ed headed down to Mustang and Hawkeye's room, only to find himself pinned with a disapproving stare from Hawkeye. "What?" he demanded. 

"Fullmetal," Mustang called, irritation in his voice, "please refrain from having the MPs called on yourself again. If at _all_ possible." 

Ed held back a wince; he'd honestly forgotten that the MPs would have to report his misbehaviour to his CO. "Yeah, yeah," he said, going for careless and managing it, judging by the furious look Mustang was sending in his general direction. "You know, it's not my fault the nurses decided they'd rather call the MPs on Darius and them because we got a little rowdy." 

" 'A little rowdy'? You _kicked in a door_ , Fullmetal. That is not–"

"My usual behaviour?" Ed couldn't resist pointing out. 

Mustang pointed a shaking finger in his direction. "Out. Right now." 

Ed opened his mouth to tell Mustang where he could stick his orders, but Hawkeye intoned, "Edward," and Ed decided retreating was his best option. 

So he spent the rest of that afternoon generally bored out of his mind and decided he was going to steal some of Mustang's books if he kicked him out again the next day. 

-0-

Mustang didn't kick him out the next afternoon, but Hawkeye did hand over what was probably the most tedious law book ever, and Ed suspected that was his punishment for the MPs. Mustang asking, "Learn anything?" when he finished it rather reinforced that suspicion, and Ed had left with a huff to keep himself from insulting Mustang in response. 

He and Al spent another four weeks in hospital, during which Ed read most, if not all, of the original piles of books – which had taken to spawning new piles as his pile next to the wall grew – including a handful of law books and books that covered construction and survival in the desert. He relayed everything he learnt about survival in the desert to Al, since he would have to cross the Great Desert to reach Xing, which Al seemed grateful for, even if he did make a couple comments on Ed's mother-henning habit. 

When Al's doctor told them he should be okay to travel back to Resembool, Ed grinned and said, "Guess that means I've got some phone calls to make." 

Al nodded. "See what time the next train to East City is, first," he ordered, and Ed hurried from their room. 

There was a train leaving for East City that evening, and, after taking a moment to figure how long it would take them to make it to the station, Ed decided that would work, especially if he could get someone to drive them down there. So his next call was to the Central Rose Hotel. When Heinkel picked up the line on the other side, Ed asked, "How hard would it be for you to get a car from Command's carpool?" 

Heinkel hummed. _"Not too hard. You looking for a ride to the station?"_

"Yeah. Doc says Al's good to travel, and there's a train out tonight. Plenty of time to walk it, but I don't want to push him." 

_"I understand. When do you want us picking you up?"_

Ed couldn't help a smile, honestly relieved at the easy agreement. "Three hours. What did you lot decide?" 

_"Jerso pointed out we can find a hotel in East City as easily as here, and it'll be calmer there, so we'll all come with you that far."_

"Close enough it won't take long to meet up if something happens, far enough apart that it doesn't feel like we're stepping on each other's toes," Ed figured, and Heinkel chuckled. "Sure. It's your leave." 

_"Good. We'll meet you at the hospital entrance in three hours."_

"Thanks, Mr Lion," Ed offered, and Heinkel sighed before hanging up. He gave himself a moment to grin, then rang the Rockbells. 

_"Rockbell Automail,"_ Winry answered. 

"Hey, Winry," Ed offered. 

_"Ed! Granny said you'd rang. Are you coming home?"_

"Yeah. We're catching a train out tonight. Depending on the connections at East City, we should be back within a couple days. So, you know, pie. You promised." 

He could almost _hear_ Winry rolling her eyes. _"Yeah, yeah. It'll be ready."_ She let out a quiet breath, then asked, _"Ed? You're both okay? Granny said you were in hospital."_

"I got a little beat up," Ed admitted, because that was true, and far easier than admitting that Al had been too weak to make the journey until recently. "You know how I am." 

_"Yeah,"_ Winry agreed, irritation pushing out the concern in her voice. _"I know how you are."_

Ed grinned. "I'll call in East City, let you know for sure when we're due in," he offered. 

Winry snorted. _"I promise not to be surprised when you forget."_

"Yeah, yeah. See you in a couple days." 

_"Bye, Ed!"_

Ed hung up the handset and gave himself a moment to smile at it, envisioning Winry's expression when she saw Al back in his real body and Ed's flesh arm. 

Eventually, he shook himself and walked back to his and Al's room, poking his head in the door. "Hey," he called and Al looked up at him with a smile. "We've got a ride to the station in three hours. Heinkel and them're going with us as far as East City, then getting a hotel there." 

Al nodded. "Good. It'll be nice to have them so close, just in case." 

Ed felt his smile widen. "That's what I said," he agreed and Al laughed. "Told Winry when we should be back. I'm going to go let the brigadier general and captain know we're leaving." 

"Okay. Be polite!" Al called after him as Ed ducked back out of their room. 

He rolled his eyes, but did make a point to push politely into Mustang and Hawkeye's room. 

She was reading as he stepped in, but she stopped before he could clear the door and said, "Edward," which Ed was coming to suspect was as much a greeting as it was a way to let Mustang know who was there. 

Mustang turned towards the door. "Fullmetal?" he asked, brow furrowing. "You're early." 

"Yeah. Doc gave Al the okay to travel, so we're leaving in a few hours. Figured I'd come say our goodbyes before things got crazy." 

"No MPs," Mustang was quick to say. 

"Not that kind of crazy," Ed insisted, rolling his eyes. "As tempting as it would be to leave you a parting gift–"

" _Don't_ ," Mustang ordered. 

Ed grinned. "Yeah, yeah." And then he...didn't really know what else to say. "Right, so...bye, then, I guess." 

Mustang straightened. "Of course. Thank you for all your hard work–" he motioned towards the pile of books between his bed and Hawkeye's "–and please give Alphonse my best." 

"Yeah, sure," Ed agreed, and there was a strange sort of sinking sensation in his stomach, like this was a far more permanent goodbye. "Don't get all depressed again and do something stupid, okay? I'm not going to come after you again just to kick your arse." 

Mustang's mouth twitched. "Noted." 

Ed swallowed and turned to Hawkeye. "See ya, Captain." 

Hawkeye smiled at him. "Goodbye, Edward." 

"Yeah." And, before it could get even more awkward, Ed made his escape. 

-0-

If the trip to East City was at all indicative of how future travels with the brothers and the four chimeras would go, there were good things in store. Ed and Darius got some (mostly) good-natured heckling in, which Heinkel and Al did their best to mediate, with varying degrees of success. Zampano was a bit more taciturn than Ed would have been able to handle, but he and Al seemed to get along well, and Jerso was happy to serve as conversation any time Ed and Darius weren't having a go at each other, yet also seemed friendly enough with Zampano to not be bothered by his silence. (Darius said something about the two being comrades before everything, and some of their exchanges did seem to support that.) 

While none of the chimeras really knew more than the most basic information about alchemy – the things that 'everyone' knew, about half of which was complete bollocks – none of them shied away from learning more. For Jerso and Zampano, Ed knew, the interest was almost solely based on ways to get their bodies back, but Darius and Heinkel were looking at it from a battle-oriented standpoint, which the other two also seemed to be interested in. None of the four could actually use alchemy, but their soldier training and the recent fight had left them with the idea of keeping a mix of components on their persons for debilitating combinations they could throw at enemies after Ed or Al activated them, or even alchemically-boosted grenades. Too, the idea of carbon worked into the fibre of Ed's clothing had given him ideas for other things that could be worked into clothing with a bit of alchemy, making it more flexible or tougher (for the chimeras, more than him; he didn't want to overload his own clothing). Things to experiment with while he was stuck in Resembool, waiting for Al to fully recover. 

They spent the night in East City, and Ed took the chance to stock up on materials he wanted to mess around with, while Al took the chance to nap. 

Ed only remembered to ring ahead because Al kept on top of him the next morning, and he caught Granny, who promised to pass the message on to Winry. The chimeras saw them off, standing in a huddle on the platform as the train pulled away, and Al said, "I'm going to miss them." 

"They're not that far away," Ed pointed out, settling back into his seat. He was starting to get used to seeing his brother across from him, rather than the armour, but there was still a slight mental disconnect every time Al spoke while Ed was looking away from him. 

Al sighed and slumped against the window, his crutch clicking against the wooden seat as it shifted. "I know. Could you try to be a little nicer to Darius?" 

Ed huffed; he and Darius had a well-developed, slightly antagonistic friendship, which worked out just fine for them – better than fine, sometimes – but of course his brother wouldn't see it that way. "He gives as good as I do," he said by way of excuse, mostly because there were some things that he just didn't want to get into with Al, not on a train. (Not _ever_ , if he was being honest.) 

"Brother." 

He rolled his eyes and offered, "I'll think about it." 

Al slumped a little further, his eyes sliding closed. "At least officer training should cure you of that." 

"Shut up," Ed ordered, even as he pulled off his jacket and got up to settle Al more comfortably on his bench, Ed's jacket serving as a pillow. "Go to sleep. I'll wake you before we arrive," he said as he settled back in his own bench, holding Al's crutch so he or the train couldn't upset it and wake him up. 

"Kay," Al agreed sleepily, and Ed settled in to pass the second half of their journey in silence. 

-0-

Winry's expression, when they made it to the Rockbell house, was everything Ed could have hoped for, outshone only by Al's expression of near-orgasmic glee following his first bite of apple pie. 

When Winry and Al started going over Al's list of food he wanted to try, Ed left them to it to hunt down Granny, who'd come to greet them at the door, then vanished back into the house. He found her in the workshop, making adjustments to a leg, and sat down on the stool on the other side of the work table from her. 

Granny cast him a brief look. "No Hohenheim?" she asked. 

Ed grimaced as his stomach churned with the guilt that had only ever been eased by Al's apparent forgiveness, never completely banished. "No," he agreed quietly. "Gave him your message, though. From Mum." 

She nodded. "What happened?" Because she knew him way too fucking well. 

Ed brought his right leg up and hooked his heel on the edge of the stool, curling around it. "He asked me to use him to bring back Al." 

Granny didn't say anything for a long moment, just finished tightening a bolt, then turned coolly assessing eyes on him as she set her work down. "You wish you hadn't," she guessed. 

Ed shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, it was his choice, right? So– But..." He sighed and closed his eyes, pressing his cheek hard against the side of his knee. "Do you think...Mum would forgive me?" 

"Yes," Granny said without pause, and it felt like a weight had lifted from Ed's shoulders. "But I don't think she'll forgive Hohenheim any time soon." 

Ed frowned at that and looked over at her. "What do you mean?" 

"He shouldn't have asked you to make that choice," Granny insisted, and her eyes were hard as she caught Ed's gaze. "That was cruel of him." 

Ed stared at her, feeling his body stiffen. He hadn't actually considered it that way, that Hohenheim shared some of the blame for his death. That it wasn't just Ed's sin, even if he was the one who would have to live with it. And that his mum would take his side? 

"I think," he heard himself say, voice thick, "I needed to hear that." 

"Good. Do I need to talk to your brother?" 

Ed swallowed, honestly touched by this show that he had someone unquestionably in his corner. "No. He– We sorted it out." 

Granny nodded, but they were interrupted by Winry shouting, "Edward! What's Al mean, I need to look at your leg?!" 

Granny peered over her work table at where Ed's left leg hung down over the edge of his stool, serving as a counterweight for his unbalanced position. She sighed and said, "Let me find the temporary," before jumping down off her own stool. 

Ed bit back a groan. "I'm upstairs, Winry!" he called down to his mechanic, resigning himself to a future of getting brained by spanners and a fair few lectures about how he was always mistreating her work. 

-0-

Living with the Rockbells was as much a trial as it was a comfort. It hadn't been hard to fall back into their old childhood patterns, given that they'd never really left them, and there was plenty to laugh about as they filled each other in on the happier times that had occurred while they were in hiding. 

But, still, there were long silences and stories cut short as they realised they were getting too close to something dark, something they daren't share. There was telling Al about his near-death experience in that mineshaft, and Al telling him about losing contact with his armour body, stories they hadn't been strong enough to whisper into the too-white of a hospital room. There were nights waking from nightmares, calling out across the too-dark room until their brother woke up and responded, assured them that it was okay, that they'd made it. 

There was Winry's anger when she found out about Hohenheim, brought to a swift end by Granny's no-nonsense scolding, and making him a tombstone next to Mum's, even though there was no body. There was learning to face his own guilt, because once Al and Winry realised how much Ed blamed himself for Hohenheim's sacrifice, they did their damnedest to convince him that he bore none of the blame for Hohenheim's choices, and Ed loved them both for that, even as he wanted to throttle them. 

It was one such occasion, when Ed had enough of being prodded and had collected a shopping list from Granny and hurried into town with only Den as company, when he saw Mustang again. 

He'd been in the process of buying himself a sweet treat when he heard a voice call, "Fullmetal?" 

Ed turned, honestly surprised to hear his second name out here, but then he found Mustang standing a few feet away, blinking at Ed in what was clearly surprise, a white desert-issue coat covering most of his uniform and hiding his rank and the bars designating his honours. "Hey, Mustang," he called back, before turning back to finish trading coins for his doughnuts. Marie passed him an extra with a wink, so Ed wasn't surprised to find that the brigadier general had waited for him. "What are you doing–" he started as he stepped forward, before it occurred to him that Mustang was actually _watching him_. He stopped and waved a hand between them. 

Mustang raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes, I can see you," he offered. 

Ed blinked at that as he held out the extra doughnut, which Mustang took with a surprised look in a hand wearing a plain white glove. "Right." Recalling what Heinkel had admitted about his healed wounds when Ed had pressed him on the train, he guessed, "Dr Marcoh's Stone?" 

Mustang grimaced faintly. "I know you disapprove." 

Ed shrugged. "You never made any promises about what you would or wouldn't sacrifice in trade for your eyes," he pointed out. 

"Still." 

"And I really can't talk," Ed added with a grimace of his own. "I may not have used a Stone, but I did use someone else's life." 

Mustang considered him for a moment, and Ed had to look away, taking a bite of one of his doughnuts. At last, Mustang let out a considering hum and took a bite of his own doughnut. "These are good," he said with some surprise, once he'd swallowed. 

"Lack of sand?" Ed suggested, and Mustang rolled his eyes. "Hey, yeah, so, what _are_ you doing up here? I thought your company went down to Ishval two months ago." It had been all that anyone in town could talk about for weeks, and Ed hadn't actually seen any of the military group, but the descriptions he'd heard after the fact led him to believe Mustang had been part of them. 

Mustang motioned with his head for Ed to join him in walking towards the train station. "We did," he agreed as Ed fell into step with him, Den at his side, "but we're having trouble setting up a reliable phone connection, so I come into town to make calls once a week." 

"Huh. That's not like you." 

Mustang frowned. "What isn't?" 

Ed shrugged. "Making the calls yourself. I'd have expected you to send Hawkeye or Breda or someone up here to do it for you. Unless–" Ed shot the man a considering glance "–did Dr Marcoh fix your sense of responsibility, too?" 

Mustang let out a sigh that Ed was pretty sure was more amused than irritated. "No. There's simply one call I can't delegate to anyone else." 

A call Mustang couldn't get someone else to make for him? "What the fuck? Who's so important you can't hand them off to Hawkeye? Grumman?" 

"No," Mustang said, and Ed caught him giving him a considering look. Ed scowled at him and Mustang's mouth quirked. "I call Elicia every week," he admitted just before Ed gave in to the urge to hit him, and damn the consequences. 

"Elicia _Hughes_?" Ed asked. Really? He'd known Mustang and Hughes had been friends, sure, but Mustang had kept up with Gracia and Elicia? 

Fuck. The bastard was a better person than Ed; he hadn't spoken to either of them since he and Al had apologised to Gracia for their part in her husband's death. 

"Yes. Did you want to speak to her?" he offered. 

Ed felt a little like the world had just tilted out of balance and he had to stop moving while it resettled, giving Mustang a confused look. "Do I... What?" Talk to Elicia? It had been almost a year since the last time he'd seen her, and he'd– Since then, he'd–

"No," he decided, taking a step back and looking down when he bumped into Den. "I need to do some shopping. Before Al sends Winry after me because, fuck, I don't know, they think I'm going to get lost or some shit. Fuck if I know, they're both completely insane. I mean, what do they even–" He realised he was rambling and snapped his mouth shut, then turned and hurried away. 

And, fuck it all, he wasn't even sure if he cared he was running away. 

-0-

Of course, it had taken Al all of ten minutes to figure out something had happened in town. He'd been nice enough to wait until they were in their room, getting ready for bed, before he'd pressed Ed for the specifics, thankfully, but he hadn't held back in dragging the meeting out of him. He'd seemed in turns surprised and resigned to hear about Mustang's returned sight, sharing Ed's opinion that the bastard had never made any promises about whether or not he'd use a Philosopher's Stone, and that he had was his own business. 

He hadn't had much comment on Ed's avoidance of the Hugheses, and Ed had believed he'd dropped it until, one week later, he found himself being sent out to town again with a list of three things that Winry _absolutely_ needed for what Al had requested for dinner, and it didn't occur to him that the two had conspired against him until he saw Mustang on the phone at the station. 

Mustang saw him before Ed could make his escape and shot him a knowing look, even as he curled his finger in a 'come hither' motion. 

Ed gave himself a moment to consider telling Mustang he was on fucking leave and that meant he wasn't going to be led around on a fucking _leash_ , before admitting to himself that he didn't want to know what Al and Winry would devise next week in an attempt to get him on the phone with the Hugheses – which wasn't fair, because Al was technically avoiding them, too – and letting out a sigh as he started towards Mustang. 

As soon as he reached the man, Mustang held out the handset. "It's Gracia," he offered. 

Ed took it with a wince and held it up to his ear. "Hi, Mrs Gracia," he said, hated how weak his voice came out. 

_"Ed!"_ she replied, and she sounded so honestly happy, it made his breath catch in his throat. _"It's wonderful to hear from you. I'm sorry Elicia and I never visited you while you were in hospital, but every time we came asking, we were told either Al was sleeping or you had vanished. Roy says that was his fault, though."_

"I–yeah." Ed glanced towards Mustang, who had settled on one of the few benches in the station and was looking through some papers. "Yeah, he had Captain Hawkeye reading to him, but it was sort of messing with her throat, you know? So I said I'd come in the afternoons." He slumped slightly. "I didn't– I had no idea you had tried to visit us. No one ever told us. Me." 

_"Really? We did get to visit with Al a couple days before you left."_

That little _traitor_. Ed was going to punch his brother as soon as he got home, still recovering or not. "Guess he forgot to mention that." 

Gracia laughed and kindly offered, _"If you're running away from a phone call, I can guess why."_

Fuck it. He was going to punch Mustang, too. "I– That was–"

_"It's okay,"_ Gracia promised. _"Can I tell you a secret?"_

Ed frowned. "What?" 

_"It took Roy almost a month to come see us, after the funeral, and the first thing he did was apologise for getting Maes killed."_

Ed turned wide eyes on the distracted brigadier general. "I– But, but it wasn't his fault! That was– It was _our_ lead." Fuck. He'd known Mustang had spent months hunting for Envy, but he hadn't realised he fucking blamed himself, too. 

_"Roy said he asked Maes to keep an eye on you two while you were in Central,"_ Gracia offered. _"And maybe he did, but it was Maes' choice to keep tabs on you two. Just like it was his choice to keep pursuing your lead after you left. The **only** person to blame for Maes' death is the person who shot him."_

Envy, Ed didn't say. Instead, he whispered, "Yeah, I know. But that doesn't mean we don't feel responsible." Just like with Hohenheim. Just like Mustang felt responsible for fixing Ishval and Ed felt responsible for repairing all the shit the Dwarf in the Flask had done to Amestris. 

And it occurred to him, then, that calling Elicia once a week was probably Mustang's penance for his assumed part in Hughes' death, whereas Ed had just been letting his own guilt build up and fester. "Hey, Mrs Gracia?" he asked. 

_"Yes?"_

"I'm going to be back in Central end of December, I think, or the beginning of January. Is it– Can I come visit?" 

_"Elicia and I would be delighted to have you over,"_ Gracia promised, and she sounded like she meant it. _"Did you want my number? You can ring us any time you want."_

There was something caught in Ed's throat and he had to hold the receiver away from his mouth so he could cough to clear it. "I'm not–good. At calling people." At keeping in contact at all, really, and he needed to work on that, if only because he'd promised Al. 

_"I understand,"_ Gracia replied. _"But, if you happen to catch Roy on the phone with us again, I'm sure he'd be happy to hand it over for a moment."_

"Yeah. I'll remember that," Ed promised, though he wasn't sure he'd make a habit of running down to town once a week just to catch the bastard and hijack his phone call. 

_"Good. Would you like to speak to Elicia?"_

From a distance, Ed heard a cheery voice shout, _"Yeah! I wanna talk to Big Brother Ed! Mama! Mama, I wanna speak to him!"_

Ed swallowed, helpless against the smile that twisted his mouth. "Yeah," he agreed. 

_"Big Brother Ed!"_ Elicia called gleefully into the phone once she had it, and then proceeded to tell him all about...everything. Ed really wasn't even sure what all she covered, by the end, but he spent at least half of their forty minute conversation laughing, and somehow promised he'd drag Al with him when he got back to Central and they'd build snowmen and, no, don't worry, Ed could totally make snow for them, even if the weather wasn't behaving. 

After he'd hung up, he blinked at Mustang, who was watching him with a knowing expression, and admitted, "I feel like I just got through a particularly giggly blizzard." 

Mustang snorted, dark eyes gleaming, as he got to his feet. "Elicia has that effect," he agreed. "Half the reason I call every week is to keep my calls shorter than an hour." He nodded towards the handful of coins Ed had taken to feeding the payphone as the metre got low, which he'd had to scramble for when the first warning came, then just set what he'd found on top of the housing for ease of access. 

Ed huffed and collected his much depleted change to return to his pocket. "Yeah, yeah. What's the other half of the reason? Not enough ladies to talk to down in Ishval?" 

Mustang's mouth thinned. "No. Elicia panicked when I told her I had to leave for an extended period for work. She was afraid I wouldn't come home." 

Ed felt a little like someone had just punched him in the gut. "Oh," he heard himself say as Mustang picked up the handset and started dialling what Ed recognised as Central Command's outside line. 

"Yes," Mustang agreed coolly, "oh." 

Ed crept away, feeling like a heel, and scuffed his way down what counted for a main street in Resembool. It hadn't even occurred to him, that Elicia might equate someone she cared about leaving for work with Hughes' death. Fuck, he wasn't even sure how much she understood about her father never coming home. And what had Ed and Al's long absence done to her? How much had his own fucking avoidance hurt Elicia? How much like his father _was_ he? 

"Pull yourself together, Edward," he hissed at himself, fists tightening enough to hurt. "You fucked up, so _fix it_."

If Mustang could come up from Ishval once a week to call them, Ed could walk into town for the same. And, he realised, catching sight of the bakery where he'd bought the doughnuts last week, he could provide food as thanks for his CO letting him steal the phone from him. 

"Hey, Marie?" he called, stepping up to the bakery counter. 

"What can I do for you, Ed?" 

Ed dropped enough change onto the counter for two doughnuts. "You know the military man who comes by to use the phone every week?" 

"Your friend?" Marie suggested. 

Ed snorted. Him and Mustang? Friends? "Commanding officer," he corrected. "When he walks back this way, give him a couple doughnuts?" 

"It's common in the military to give your commander doughnuts?" Marie teased as she swept his change into the till. 

"Shut up. Just...give him the doughnuts." 

"I will," Marie promised, smiling, and Ed hurried off to find the food Winry had wanted before she could make any more pointed comments about his complicated relationship with the brigadier general. 

He finished his shopping and escaped back up the path to the Rockbells' without running into Mustang again, which was a relief, because he really didn't want to know if the man was angry with him for his comment. 

When he got back into the house, he found Winry and Al in the kitchen. "You're coming back with me to Central," he told Al as he sat the requested food on the worktop. 

"I am?" Al asked, amusement in his voice. 

"Wait, what?" Winry spun on her chair to turn a confused look on Ed. "Why are you going back to Central?" 

"When Al's better," Ed soothed, before telling his brother, "Somehow, I promised Elicia we'd build snowmen together." 

Al laughed. "I think I can manage that." 

" _Edward_ ," Winry hissed, and Ed couldn't keep from ducking when she picked up the spanner that had been resting oh-so-innocently on the table next to her. " _Why_ are you talking about going back to Central?" 

Ed swallowed and traded a vaguely panicked look with Al, because they hadn't, actually, approached this topic with Winry. "Erm, because Grumman's making me take officer training?" 

Winry's fingers clenched around the spanner. "You're staying in the military," she said flatly. 

Ed gave a careful nod, hunching down behind the worktop in hopes of making a smaller target for her to aim at. 

Winry turned on Al. "And you?" 

"I, uh, I'm going to, er, to Xing. After," Al offered, looking about as terrified as Ed felt, hunched down in his chair and holding up his mug as though it would protect him. "If– If that's okay?" 

Ed couldn't see Winry's expression from his position, but by the way Al's eyes went wide, he could make a pretty good guess what it was. "Win–" he tried. 

She spun to glare at him, her eyes filled with tears. "You just got _back_!" she shouted, and Ed very firmly clamped down on the urge to point out that they'd been in Resembool for almost three months. "Why do you have to leave again?" She pointed her spanner at Ed and he flinched back. "Why the _military_ , Ed?!" 

Ed didn't have a good answer for that. At least, not one that she would accept, or wouldn't end with her crying. (Which, well, there was already enough of a chance of that, best not to push it.) "Why _not_ the military?" he replied. 

"They've imprisoned you–"

"That's got nothing–"

"–they held me hostage–"

"That wasn't–"

"–you've nearly died a thousand times on those stupid _missions_ –"

"You're exagger–"

"–and all they're ever interested in is _war_!" she finished, looking every inch like someone who knew she was in the right. 

"That's not fair," Ed snapped, straightening, and something in his voice or his face made her flinch back, clutching her spanner to her chest. "Stop painting the military with the same brush as the fucking Dwarf in the Flask. I told you, didn't I? Mustang's down in Ishval, helping them rebuild. That's not _war_ , Winry." 

"Fine! So there's one good man in the military!" Winry shouted at him. 

Ed clenched his jaw. "Then I'll make two." 

She flinched again and a tear trailed down her cheek. 

"Winry," Al offered, his voice so fucking gentle, and she glanced at him as another tear made its way down her face. "We're not ready to settle down, either of us. I want to see the world, and Brother, well..." He shrugged a bit helplessly. "We were never going to stay in Resembool." 

"Fuck, _you're_ not going to stay in Resembool," Ed interrupted, and Al shot him a glare, which he studiously ignored. "Or can you honestly say you've got no interest in going back to Rush Valley and setting up a proper shop there?" 

"But that's _Rush Valley_ ," she insisted, putting down her spanner and rubbing at her eyes. "It's not–not running into danger." She turned on Ed. "You're going to break my leg again!" 

" _My_ leg," Ed snapped. 

" _Brother_ ," Al stressed, and Ed grudgingly shut up. "Winry," he said quieter, and she looked back at him. "We'll be okay. We're, neither of us, going alone. And we'll keep in contact." Winry must have made some sort of face, because Al turned hard eyes on Ed. " _Won't_ we, Brother?" 

Ed remembered his panic attacks, born from not knowing if Al was alive or dead, and what Mustang had said about Elicia needing to hear from him, to know he was okay, and absolutely meant it when he said, "Yeah. I'll ring, at least once a month. Promise." 

Winry turned to him, her eyes still bright with unshed tears, and insisted, "Every other week." 

Ed grimaced, feeling a bit like a noose had lowered around his neck as he agreed, "Fine. Every other week." 

She looked rather like she wasn't sure she trusted him. 

Al sighed and pointed out, "It's not like we're leaving _now_. Another few months at least, right?" 

Ed nodded. "Figure I'll aim for the January training session," he offered. "We can leave for Dublith in November or December, whenever you feel up to it. Make a pit stop in Rush Valley on our way up to Central, see Paninya and them. Winry, if you're back there by then." 

Al's mouth twitched. "And then building snowmen with Elicia." 

Ed grinned. "Yup. Told her we'd _make_ it snow, if we had to." 

"Are you _allowed_ to do that?" Winry asked, sounding less like she was dreading the end of the year. 

"Eh." 

"Not...really," Al admitted. 

"Localised snow. A city block. It'll be fine." 

Winry sighed. "You are going to get into so much trouble." 

"How is that new?" 

Ed wasn't sure if the sound Winry let out was one of irritation or a laugh, but he blamed his confusion for not being able to duck the spanner that hit him, so... 

At least that uncomfortable conversation was over with?

.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's the thing, everything I could find about recovering from muscle atrophy and malnourishment says Al should be pretty well recovered after five to six months. I went ahead and gave him seven before throwing him towards Izumi, though, because she's brutal and I'm nice. (Sometimes.)  
> Anyway, so, I get that in the series, Ed and Al didn't really have any future ideas right when they got back to Resembool, but they've already talked about the future in this fic, so they have no intention in cooling their heels for two years. Hell, they don't even last _one_ year. But, you know, AU and all that, so... XD

It was surprisingly easy to make heading into town once a week part of his schedule. The first week, when Ed met Mustang at the phone with doughnuts, then man had blinked and said, "You don't need to bribe me with sweets so I'll ring them for you, Fullmetal," even as he'd taken the doughnuts. 

Ed had rolled his eyes and drily replied, "Yeah, whatever. I'll be over there, eating my share, until you're done." Which he'd done, had avoided listening in to whatever Mustang discussed with the Hugheses, and was granted the same kindness in turn. If he'd managed to sneak out of the house without someone asking him to pick something up, though, he'd stick around and listen to the update on Ishval, interested in spite of himself about the rebuilding efforts. 

It wasn't going perfectly – neither of them had expected it to – but the Amestris troops were being as accommodating as they could be and Mustang had picked people who weren't likely to lash out if insulted – "It's really for the best you're not involved, Fullmetal," he'd added with a smirk, after hanging up at one point – so those troublemakers looking for a fight weren't getting what they wanted. Too, Mustang had switched to plain gloves and hadn't used any alchemy since stepping onto the train in Central, which, well, the Ishvalans knew who he was, but Major – Lieutenant Colonel, now, the bastard had been quick to point out – Miles had told Mustang, in confidence, that his bowing to their culture had won him some points with the council of elders. 

Ed didn't find out about Scar's survival through Mustang's reports, though. He'd mentioned it after he'd hung up the first time Ed had stuck around, admitting that, while Grumman was aware that the wanted man had survived thanks to Major General Armstrong, they had all agreed that it was better that his being in Ishval not get spread around, since no amount of his helping on the Promised Day was ever going to wash clean his record with the military, especially given that he'd served as the perfect scapegoat to pin Bradley's death on. 

"That's _shit_ ," Ed had complained. 

Mustang had shrugged. "He was the one to finish him off, and we spent too much time playing on Bradley's side to turn around and villainise him now. Scar is aware he's been painted as the villain and he doesn't really care, said something about it being his due." 

"It's still shit." 

"No, Fullmetal, it's politics." 

One of their post-phone call chats was also how Ed found out that Dr Marcoh had used his Stone to fix Havoc's legs, and he'd had to immediately run back home and let Al know, which had seemed to amuse Mustang to no end. "He's suffering through physical therapy in East City," he'd offered before Ed could rush out of the station. "He'd probably be happy to see you two, if you wanted to take a trip up there." 

Which, well, they had. Went the next day and visited Havoc and the chimeras. Al felt strong enough by then to actually spar with Ed without him needing to pull his hits (with most of his limbs), and the chimeras had all been quick to comment on how much better he looked. Too, Havoc had been very obviously happy to see Al in the flesh for the first time, and they'd spent a good hour commiserating over the joys of strengthening muscles that had atrophied from disuse, while Ed resisted the urge to add his own comments in regards to strengthening his right arm. 

Of course, Havoc was the first of Mustang's crew to ask, "So, Boss, you staying with the military or dropping entirely?" 

Ed glanced back at him from where he'd been snooping through the shelf of junk metal, looking for anything that could serve his alchemical experiments or that he could give to Winry for the personal projects that kept her up at weird hours. "I'm sticking it out," he admitted before making a face and adding, "Grumman's making me go through officer training." 

Havoc snorted. "Ho-boy. I lost _that_ bet." 

Ed turned on the man while Al chortled. "Of course you arseholes were betting on me. What'd you put in for? That I'd kick that shit like the worst habit?" 

Havoc grinned. "Absolutely." 

Ed rolled his eyes. "Yeah, nice try. Who won?" 

Havoc took a moment to consider that, then hobbled over to the shop counter and pulled out a familiar small notebook. He went through a few pages before stopping and trailing one finger down the page he'd stopped on. "Officer training was never a consideration," he announced at last. 

"Let me see that," Ed demanded, and Al came to peer over his shoulder as Havoc handed over the betting records. 

Havoc had, indeed, said that Ed would drop them soon as Al had his body back. Breda said he'd stick it out for as much paid leave as he could wring from the military, then quit. Fuery suggested he'd take a research commission and settle down somewhere to practise alchemy in peace. Falman said that Ed would stick it out just long enough to finish reading the last dozen or so books in Central Branch that he hadn't got to yet, then quit. 

Ed snorted at Falman's bet. "I haven't read _that much_ of Central Branch's collection." Maybe half. If you figured in his reading with Al's. 

"Half?" Havoc suggested. 

Al laughed, beating Ed to a response. "Nowhere near. We had a very focussed area of study, which only comprised of maybe six percent of the Central Branch's collection." Notably, he didn't mention that they'd often needed to collect books in other topics to reference for translating an alchemist's notes, or those times that one or both of them just needed a _break_ , so tackled a completely unrelated topic, and Ed knew his brother was intent on messing with Havoc, which the man totally deserved. 

"But you two were _always_ in there," Havoc insisted. "Like, every time you made a stop of more than a day in Central, you were in the library." 

"Mustang and his fucking spies," Ed muttered. 

"Alchemy journals aren't easy reads," Al offered. "We tend to put our work into code, and half the struggle is decoding the research, which can be as quick as a day, or could take a week." 

"And neither of us have a photographic memory," Ed admitted drily, earning him a disbelieving look from Havoc. "We _don't_. So we'd have to look things back up again, just to make sure." Okay, not _quite_ that bad, but they had occasionally pulled down old references to fact-check. 

"Or something that didn't make sense the first time we saw it clicked after whatever we came across in a mission, so we'd have to go back and put that new information into its place in the context," Al added. 

"So, what you're saying is, you two spent three years rereading the _same books_."

Ed and Al traded looks, Al raising an eyebrow in inquiry – 'Should we keep this up?' – and Ed replied with a smile that, he hoped, looked like they weren't taking the mickey, because, fuck yes they were keeping this up. 

"My whole life is a _lie_ ," Havoc complained, flopping dramatically over the counter, clearly missing the exchange. "I demand my money back." 

"Sorry," Ed quipped, motioning to the sign on the front of the counter, "all purchases are non-refundable." 

Havoc groaned and snatched his notebook back. "Eh, fine. So, who won?" 

"None of you idiots," Ed retorted. "You all suck. Grumman won; he's the one who talked me into fucking _officer training_."

Havoc snorted and snapped the book closed. "Yeah, okay. So, seriously, how the hell did old man Grumman manage to talk you into officer training?" 

Ed grimaced, still a bit sore about the Führer's underhanded tactics, so it was Al who quietly offered, "He told Brother he'd do Mustang a lot more good as an officer." 

Havoc's eyes went wide and he stared at Ed like he'd never seen him before. "Shit," he whispered. "Does he know? The chief?" 

Ed frowned. "What, that I'm staying on?" 

"Yes. No, that you're staying on because of _him_."

Ed crossed his arms over his chest, the phrasing making him feel defensive. "I haven't told him I'm staying on at all, and Grumman said he'd expected I'd quit, same as you." 

"What about when you've talked to him?" Al asked, frowning. "It hasn't come up?" 

Ed shook his head. "We haven't talked about my resigning or staying on one way or the other. I mean, he's still calling me 'Fullmetal', but I'm betting he'd be calling me that either way, so..." He gave a tight shrug. "Do you think I should?" he asked Havoc, because he honestly hadn't really thought about telling Mustang he was sticking it out, figured he'd just let Grumman pass that on through a massive stack of paperwork. (Assumed he had already, and Mustang just hadn't got to it yet; surprise, surprise, bastard should really do his fucking paperwork more often, shouldn't he?) 

Havoc leant heavily back against the counter, looking troubled. "Okay, so, this is only conjecture from what I heard around the office and some of the things the chief and Brigadier General Hughes said, but I think Hughes' plan was always to stay one step below the chief, push him up from below. And what you're saying..." 

Ed swallowed, his throat feeling dry. "Two steps," he offered. "Lieutenant Colonel." 

"Still." Havoc shook his head. "I don't know, Boss. Tell him that you're not resigning, yeah, sure, he should hear about that from you, if Grumman hasn't already told him, but the rest..." 

"He's going to figure it out," Al pointed out. "He's not an idiot. The minute he finds out you agreed to officer training, he's going to guess what's going on." 

"Yeah." Ed sighed and shook his head. "Whatever. Fuck it. I'll tell him before we leave for Dublith in a few weeks." He huffed. "If he gets in a snit, that way, I don't have to fucking deal with it." 

Havoc laughed at that, while Al sighed. "You know, Boss, if one of you're going to get into a snit–"

"Shut up, Havoc." 

"Sir!" 

Ed rolled his eyes. "What about you? Gonna sign back up?" 

Havoc sighed and shrugged, the playfulness draining from his expression. "I don't know," he admitted. "Nothing against the chief, but I got used by that bitch because of him, because I was the weakest link. That...sucks." He shook his head. "Anyway, my folks are getting up there in years a bit, need some help managing the shop. I'd probably have had to resign soon to come help them." He glanced at Ed, looking rather like he was waiting for his judgement. 

Ed met his eyes and said, "Okay." 

Havoc's shoulders drooped. "That's it? Just 'okay'?" 

Ed shook his head. "Havoc, if you're looking for someone to castigate you, don't look at me." He sighed. "You were the closest, you know," he added, motioning to the book on the counter. "A year ago, I would have turned in my resignation, no questions asked, as soon as Al had his body back. But, after everything that went down..." He shrugged and offered a helpless smile. "Someone needs to stick around and punch that smug look off his face." 

Havoc's mouth twisted with a smile that was familiar to Ed, one that tugged on all the wrong muscles and ached the whole time you held it. "Yeah. You were always damn good at that." 

"Now I'm gonna be damn _fucking_ good at it," Ed insisted, and Havoc's smile eased. He reached out and lightly punched Havoc's arm. "It's not gonna be the same, though, without you around the office." 

"Air'll be clearer," Havoc pointed out. 

"Good point." Ed glanced over at Al, who was watching them with a sad smile. "Hey, guess what. You can visit the office after all." 

"Brother," Al said on a sigh, sending a pointed look towards the full ashtray next to the register. 

"Right. Go wait outside," Ed ordered, and Al rolled his eyes. 

Havoc snorted. "You're as bad as Hawkeye." 

"Learnt it from her," Ed shot back. 

Havoc flashed him a knowing grin before quickly switching tracks, his expression turning serious. "Boss, I know you're not a gun person, but if you need any arms you don't want the military to know about..." 

Ed glanced towards Al, who frowned and nodded. "We won't use them," he agreed, "but we've got some self-appointed bodyguards that might. Mind if we send them to you?" 

Havoc raised an eyebrow at that. " 'Self-appointed bodyguards'?" 

"Human chimeras," Al offered quietly. "They helped against Father, and we both travelled with them for a while, before the Promised Day. Jerso and Zampano decided they'd follow me to Xing, while Darius and Heinkel decided to re-enlist under Brother." 

"You just never do anything by halves, do you?" Havoc commented with a grin. "Yeah, sure. Have 'em tell me the boss sent them and I'll get them what they need." 

"Sure," Al agreed. 

Ed tilted his head, the talk of outfitting the chimeras reminding him of his earlier thoughts to get a diamond to carry in his pocket. He could transmute it from carbon, sure, but a non-transmuted diamond would be more stable. "How hard would it be for you to procure a diamond?" he asked. 

Havoc frowned. "A diamond, Boss?" 

"Brother?" 

"Just something Heinkel said to me," Ed offered, looking towards his brother. "Can't shift the carbon in my arm to block another Pride, any more, but carry a bit around with me..." 

Al blinked. " _That's_ what you've been doing with the carbon and your shirts!" 

Ed grinned. "Yeah. Keeping the flexibility has been proving a trick, but I've got it mostly figured out, I think." So saying, he clapped his hands together, envisioned the array he wanted, then touched his hands to his chest. The carbon fibres worked into his clothing quickly reformed around his hands, binding themselves to his gloves and crawling up his sleeves, giving him full coverage from fingertips – which had been shaped into claws – to about halfway up his forearm. 

"Holy _shit_ , Boss," Havoc exclaimed, stepping closer, and Ed held out his left hand to see, carefully fisting his hand so he didn't chance catching the man with one of his claws. 

"That's inspired," Al decided, taking Ed's right hand and knocking against the covering. "You'll have to show me how to do this." 

"Sure. Figured I'd show you and Teacher both when we got to Dublith." Given their fighting styles, a little extra protection wouldn't go amiss. "You'll have to start wearing gloves, though. You can do it without, but bonding to the gloves is what gives you the mobility." So saying, he wiggled his fingers at his brother. 

Al glanced at his own bare hands and sighed. "Yeah, okay." He shook his head and stepped back. "If the carbon's worked into your clothing, though, why the diamond?" 

Havoc had also stepped back, looking interested, and Ed quickly clapped his hands to return the carbon back to his clothing, grimacing at the odd sensation of it crawling over his skin. "It won't bind to the leather," he offered, tapping a finger against his trousers, "and I'd rather get used to a diamond in my pocket, than find myself in a fight without my shirt." 

Al snorted. "Oh, yeah. You do have that rather unfortunate habit of losing jackets and shirts, don't you?" 

"Shut up." 

"Well," Havoc interrupted, "I don't have any diamonds in stock right now, but I should be able to get you a few. You said you're heading for Dublith in a few weeks?" 

"Three or four," Al agreed, because they'd already discussed it a bit. 

"I'll have something for you in two," Havoc promised, and Ed felt a grin taking over his face, which almost certainly mirrored the one Al wore. "How big do you want them?" 

"Have you seen my trousers?" Ed demanded, motioning down at his well-worn leather trousers. Which, okay, weren't as tight as they could be, but still. 

Havoc's eyes glinted. "So you're saying you don't want any large bulges?" 

"What, exactly, are you implying about my bulge?" Ed shot back, and Al moaned, covering his face with his hands. 

Havoc let out a startled laugh. "Who taught you sexual innuendos, Boss?" 

"I wonder," Ed shot back with his best smug grin. "Let's aim for no bigger in diameter than a one hundred cenz coin, and no thicker than two or three coins." 

Havoc shook his head. "Yeah, I can do that." 

"Awesome." Ed glanced back at the shelf he'd been snooping through earlier and grabbed the small handful of bolts and scraps he'd set aside. "And these. Al, you want anything?" 

Al went to pick out some food for them to take back to the hotel, and Havoc quickly rang them up. As he handed the bags over to Ed, he said. "Two weeks. Drop by then and if it's not what you want, I'll sort something better." 

"Got it. Thanks, Havoc." 

"Any time," Havoc insisted, and they smiled at each other before Ed and Al turned to leave. 

Just before Ed could step out the door after Al, Havoc called, "Boss!" When Ed turned back, he found something that reflecting the shop light flying at his face and caught it with a scowl. "Hold onto that for me, will you?" 

Ed opened his hand and found himself holding a battered lighter, which weighed, he was fairly certain, too light for it to be filled with lighter fluid. But, then, he suspected that this particular lighter hadn't been used to light any of Havoc's cigarettes for a long time. He swallowed and clenched his fist around it, looking back up at Havoc. "You got it," he promised, and the words came out rough. 

Havoc's smile was edged with regret as he gave a sharp nod. 

Once he'd caught him back up, Al asked, "What is it?" 

"Empty lighter," Ed murmured, slipping it into his pocket next to his pocket watch. 

"Passing of the torch?" Al suggested. 

And it took Ed a minute, but then he got it and punched Al's shoulder, much to his brother's unending glee. 

-0-

Ed returned to East City on his own two weeks later, to pick up what Havoc had for him. He'd found a handful of fairly small diamonds, which Ed took all of, as well as a knife, which he prefaced with, "So, I know you said you didn't need any weapons, you or Al, but I _know_ how you fight, Boss, and you've lost your main weapon." He used the sheathed knife to tap against Ed's right arm. "Now, those claws of yours are pretty wicked, sure thing, but they strike me as the sort of thing you hold in reserve, right? Like how you used to transmute a spear or whatever before you'd use your arm." 

Ed shrugged and nodded. "Yeah. So you found me a knife." 

"Not just _any_ knife," Havoc insisted, waving it between them. "This is a Drachman _dull knife_."

Ed gave him a flat look. "A dull knife. The actual fuck, Havoc?" 

Havoc rolled his eyes and finally unsheathed the knife, revealing a blade that had been covered in what Ed assumed was black paint and which didn't reflect the shop lights. "Dull. Knife," he said, offering the handle out to Ed. "Won't give you away if you're walking around with it drawn and light catches the blade." 

Ed took the knife and brought the blade close to get a look at the finish, which, if it was paint, it had been covered with some sort of particularly strong sealant, because Ed got nothing from scratching a fingernail over it. Even more interesting, the colour-change didn't seem to interfere with the sharpness of the blade, because it didn't take much pressure for Ed to cut his thumb. "Okay," he allowed, "that's pretty amazing. What's it covered in?" 

"No clue," Havoc admitted. "I've got a whole crate in the back, if you want an extra to try decomposing it to base elements or whatever." 

"Deconstructing," Ed corrected as he took a couple steps back from the counter, then performed a few controlled swipes with the knife, checking the balance and grip. The balance was good, different from both the heavy hunting knife that Teacher had left them with on the island and his automail blade, but something he could get used to without too much practise. The grip was crap with gloves, but Winry had some rubber tubing that he could make off with and add to the hilt, giving him some much-needed friction. "Sure, I'll take an extra," he decided as he stepped back up to the counter. 

Havoc grinned and pushed away from his side of the counter. "Would Al use it?" he asked. 

Ed shrugged. "He's never been much for knives," he admitted, though a large part of that had been due to the relative size of the armour, "but it couldn't hurt." After all, there were times when you needed a weapon, but using alchemy would chance discovery, or just generally wouldn't be fast enough. 

"Got it." Havoc stepped into the back room, leaving Ed in peace to check how tight the sheath was, which was, well. He could probably tighten it up a bit to keep the blade secure when he moved, use the extra material to fuse it to his belt or something. 

Havoc came back out with three more knives. As he sat them on the counter, he offered, "One for your experiments, one for Al, one for you, and one extra for when you inevitably break the first one." 

Ed rolled his eyes. "Fuck off. What do I owe you?" 

They settled up quickly, Ed promising he and Al would stop by on their way through to Dublith, then he left with a wave, knives hidden away under five quick meals, which he could share with the four chimeras, who he was staying with until the next train out to Resembool. 

-0-

"So," Ed said once Mustang had hung up with Grumman. He and Al were leaving for East City and then Dublith the next day, which made this his last chance to tell the man he wasn't resigning. 

Mustang raised an eyebrow at him. "So?" 

Ed sighed. "I don't know if Grumman told you or not, but I'm not resigning." 

Mustang blinked. "No," he admitted after a moment. "He only told me he hadn't heard anything from you either way." He stepped away from the phone, took a couple steps towards the bench Ed had claimed, then stopped, towering over him in that way that would have won a rant from Ed a year ago. (Might still yet, if the bastard didn't quit real soon.) "May I ask why? I would have expected you to stay with your brother." He frowned. "Alphonse isn't planning to join up, is he?" 

" _Fuck_ no," Ed swore. "I catch anyone trying to talk him into it, I'm gonna rip out their fucking spleen." 

Mustang gave him a bland look. "No, you won't." 

"I will be very, very tempted," Ed amended. 

"That I'll believe," Mustang muttered, before finally walking the last two steps and sitting down on the other end of the bench. "Edward, why?" he asked quietly. 

Ed swallowed, feeling a bit unsettled at the use of his given name. "We made a promise," he offered just as quietly. "I'm not leaving until I see it fulfilled." 

Mustang frowned at him. "You hate the military." 

Ed shrugged and looked away. "Yeah, well, I hate a lot of shit that I did over the last year." He snorted. "Better the monster you know, right?" 

"I'm fairly certain you're misspeaking that," Mustang murmured, his eyes disturbingly sharp as they watched Ed. 

"I'm fairly certain I don't give a fuck." 

Mustang's mouth gave a faint twitch, but didn't turn into a smile. "This is about your father," he guessed. 

Ed felt his jaw clench, and it was an effort to pry it open long enough to say, "This is about a lot of shit. You don't know a fucking thing about what I got up to while I was on the run." 

Mustang's mouth tightened. "You're right," he admitted, some emotion Ed couldn't quite parse in his voice. "You were surprisingly low key." 

Ed snorted, and it came out harsher than he'd expected. "Yeah. You just keep fucking wondering." 

Mustang sighed. "When is your leave over?" 

"January. Old man Grumman's making me take officer training." He grimaced. 

Mustang blinked, straightening. "You're serious about this," he murmured, as though only just realising that. 

"Yeah." Ed shrugged that away. "Training's over, what, end of March? Beginning of April?" 

Mustang nodded. "End of March." 

"Do you want me to come to Ishval? Or just fuck shit up in Central in your name?" 

Mustang's mouth twitched again. "Let's avoid attaching my name to any destroyed buildings, please, Fullmetal." 

Ed flashed him his best 'make me, bastard' smile. 

That got a brief hint of what could almost have been called a smile. "Let's see how tempers are at the middle of March," he offered. "If they're still trying to pick fights, I'd rather you keep out of things." 

"Because I can't control myself?" Ed asked, honestly kind of irritated that Mustang just assumed that, because _he_ didn't have any trouble bringing Ed to violence, anyone could do it. 

"Because this isn't your fight," Mustang replied, shaking his head. "You had no part in the massacre; there's no reason for you to listen to their vitriol." 

Ed swallowed. "Fuck that shit, Mustang. The only people who deserve to listen to those kids' shit are either dead or sitting pretty in a fucking prison cell. _No one_ down there right now deserves that abuse, and neither do you." 

"I don't remember saying anything about deserving–"

"Cut the shit!" Ed snapped. 

Mustang's mouth tightened. "It will be interesting to see," he said, his voice flat, "if officer training does anything for your attitude." 

"Don't hold your breath," Ed suggested. 

"I'm not," Mustang promised as he stood. "Shall I take this conversation to mean you're leaving Resembool?" 

Ed sighed. "Yeah. Al and I are going to Dublith for a bit, then make a stop in Rush Valley before getting back into Central." 

Mustang nodded. "Good luck, then." He turned and started towards the exit. 

An air of finality lay between them, and Ed jumped to his feet, calling, "Hey, bastard!" in hopes of dispelling it. 

Mustang turned back towards him, his expression tight. "What, Fullmetal?" 

Ed stalked up to him and shoved a finger against his chest. "I don't need your fucking luck, keep it for your morose face." Then he stepped past the man and flapped his hand at him in a motion that sort of counted as a wave. "I'll see you end of March." 

And then he made his escape, because he'd already done the awkward goodbyes with the bastard. 

-0-

Teacher, after she'd beat them both to hell and back as a greeting, had hugged them, fed them, and then sat them down to catch up. She was clearly approving of Al's choice to travel outside their borders, especially when he told her he wasn't going it alone – the chimeras were staying at a hotel near the train station, but she'd met them all in Central before she and Sig returned to Dublith – but Ed's own future plans had brought a frown to her face, at least until he'd mentioned officer training. 

Then she laughed and said, "Well, this will be interesting to see play out," before changing the subject. 

Ed was going to punch Grumman in the face. Swear to fuck. 

The carbon shield trick was a hit, though Teacher's dislike for gloves meant she couldn't use it in quite the same way as Ed and Al could. Still, working it into her clothing and then using it to form a quick shield over key parts of her anatomy, or just as a guard around her forearm to deflect hits and give herself an opening worked just as well. She did drag them out to Yock Island for a few days to work with the claws, though, since they weren't as mobile as uncovered hands, and they needed to learn to change their battle style to match, just like Ed had once had to learn how to fight with the blade on his arm. 

While they were out at Yock, Ed and Al also showed off their new knives. Al had been intrigued by the paint job, same as Ed, and they'd ended up working together to find out the makeup of it. Teacher had been initially unimpressed with the non-reflective blades, but when Ed had proved they were just as sharp as unpainted blades, and that the finish the Drachmans had used didn't scratch off easily, she showed a bit more interest. 

That said, weapons had never really been a part of Teacher's fighting arsenal, not like they were Ed's, so she waved off the knife Ed offered her, even as she asked about the paint finish, "Just in case." 

The last week of their stay, Teacher had dragged Ed, Al, and the four chimeras out to Yock Island, divided them into two teams, and made them fight each other. "You need to know where your partners are," she told Ed when he complained about the unnecessary training. "You and Al have trained together for years, but you don't know a thing about fighting with those two–" she pointed at Darius and Heinkel "–which is going to get one of you _killed_. Stop bitching and go face your brother." 

It was hard not to remember Darius punching him in the dark forest while they were facing Gluttony, so Ed had grudgingly gone back to the mock fight. Which, well, none of them won, and Ed was mildly cheered by the proof that his brother had just as much trouble fighting with other people as he did. 

That night, tired and sore, he looked across their small, three-person campfire at Darius and Heinkel's equally defeated forms. "We have _got_ to sort this out," he muttered, and they both glanced up at him. 

When Ed fought with Al, he always knew exactly where he was, because they'd trained to fight as a pair. Likewise, Darius and Heinkel knew how to fight with each other, knew exactly what each other's skill sets were and where the other would be in the middle of combat. Ed was the one tripping them up. 

He leant forward, frowning into the fire. He knew the strengths of their opponents, which wouldn't always be true in future, but he could use that now to focus them; working together as a team wasn't going to be a quick fix, but every battle was a learning experience. "Mr Lion–" Heinkel sighed, but didn't bother correcting him "–focus on Mr Toad." 

Heinkel frowned. "Why?" 

Ed glanced up at him. "Because you're fairly matched for speed, and your claws can cut through his saliva." 

Darius sighed. "So I've got Zampano?" he guessed. 

But Ed shook his head. "No, you've got Al. I can protect myself against the spikes better, and you've got a longer reach than Al or I. Unless you think you'll have trouble with his alchemy?" He met Darius' surprised look evenly. 

Darius' surprise melted into a smirk. "I can handle a little shaky ground." 

Ed snorted. "I figured." He paused, trying to remember if they knew about the carbon alchemy and deciding that he was better safe than sorry. "Though, watch out for claws," he offered before quickly clapping his hands and forming the carbon covering. 

"That's a new trick," Heinkel commented. "Looks like Greed's shield." 

Ed gave a short nod. "That's who I got it from," he admitted, before clapping again and reshaping the carbon to form arm guards, rather than covering his hands. "If you can get rid of his gloves, he can still form the claws, but he won't be able to move them much," he told Darius. It felt a little cruel, sharing his brother's secrets, but, well, all's fair in love and war, right? And, too, Darius and Heinkel would find out about this trick while fighting with Ed, would be helped knowing that, if he lost his gloves, he wasn't going to be able to use this trick quite so well. 

"Wasn't Greed's shield part of him?" Darius asked, a glint in his eyes saying he being an arse, not asking a stupid question. 

Ed rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but if I started fucking with the carbon in _my_ body, that would be human transmutation, and we don't do that." 

Darius and Heinkel both laughed at that. 

"Shut up," Ed ordered. "Go to sleep. I'm done looking at your ugly faces tonight." 

"Just our faces?" Darius asked, and his eyebrows did a kind of disturbing little dance above his eyes. 

"Stop that, it makes you look demented." 

Heinkel made a noise of agreement, and Darius scowled at him. 

"Anyway," Ed added, getting up with a wince and pausing to dust off his rear, "I'm not Greed. You wanna play 'Grope the Gorilla'–"

"Can we outlaw that phrase?" Darius pleaded while Heinkel chuckled. 

Ed flashed him a smirk. "No. I like that one." 

Darius groaned. "Of course you do." 

Ed rolled his eyes. "Whatever. You wanna fuck, that's your business. Keep me out of it." 

Darius and Heinkel traded looks, then both nodded. "You got it," Darius offered, and Ed knew any further remarks of that nature would be jokes, rather than offers, unless he said otherwise. 

Ed felt his mouth shift into a tired smile. "Awesome. Night." 

"Good night, Ed," they returned, and Ed turned in for the night feeling extremely relieved to have cleared _that_ conversation. 

-0-

The next day's skirmish was a different beast entirely, and Ed was going to fucking _treasure_ the horrified look Zampano put on when he went after him, rather than Al. Al's shout of, "Broth– Shit! That's my glove!" was also going to stay with him forever. 

Al managed to hold his own against Darius, but Zampano was a fucking walk in the park for Ed, and Heinkel seemed equally capable of outmatching Jerso. Teacher, who had started laughing around the time Darius made off with Al's first glove, took pity and called a halt before Ed and Heinkel could join Darius against Al. 

"You _cheated_ ," Al snapped at Ed, once Darius had handed back his gloves. 

Ed wiggled his clawed fingers at his brother. "All's fair in love and war, little brother." 

"Better," Teacher told Ed, Heinkel, and Darius, as Al stalked off to free Zampano from the ground, "but pre-planning isn't always going to work." 

"Nah, but it helps," Ed insisted. 

"Not for long," Teacher pointed out, and Ed turned to look towards where his brother, Jerso, and Zampano had their heads together. 

Darius groaned. "It was nice knowing you two while it lasted." 

"Stop being morbid," Heinkel ordered and Ed couldn't help a snicker that might have come out a little nervous. 

Their next battle was far more drawn out, since the element of surprise had been lost. Al made a pointed bid for Ed, and he ended up fighting both Al and Zampano while Darius helped Heinkel finish off Jerso. With Jerso out of the way, Heinkel and Darius set about distracting Al and giving Ed the opening he needed to pin Zampano. 

Teacher again called a halt before they could gang up on Al, then made them all sit down to tend to wounds and eat some lunch. 

"If you'd allow guns," Jerso muttered, "this would be much easier." 

Teacher shoved him over with her foot. "No guns. I am not dealing with bullet wounds." She looked them over, then pointed between Jerso and Zampano. "You're facing hand-to-hand combatants. Stop relying on your distance attacks and get your hands dirty. Or didn't the military teach you how to do that?" 

While Jerso and Zampano made grumbling noises, Ed caught a gleam in his brother's eyes that meant trouble. He leant closer to Darius and murmured, "Can you cover Zampano?" 

Darius glanced at him out of the side of one eye. "I'll manage. What's up?" 

"Al's planning something." 

Darius gave a faint nod and returned to demolishing his fish. 

As Ed had guessed, Al had developed a plan: As soon as Teacher called for them to start, he clapped and slammed his hands against the ground. The ground under both Zampano and Jerso rose to just below tree-height, giving them the distance necessary for their preferred methods of attack, without leaving Darius and Heinkel an easy way to get to them. 

"Fuck," Ed breathed, dodging a glob of spit and throwing up an earthen shield to protect Heinkel from a hail of spikes. He could focus on tearing the platforms down, but Al would fight him the whole way, and his group would be completely open. "Go after Al!" he shouted at Darius and Heinkel, falling back a few steps so he had a better view of the battleground and settling in to protect his partners from the attacks from above or – once Al realised Ed wasn't going to go after the platforms – whatever ground-based attacks his brother tried. 

Teacher had to call a halt to that battle before they could all exhaust themselves. Because, while Ed was inarguably the better at offensive alchemy, his defensive alchemy was lacking, and while he'd managed to keep Darius and Heinkel from taking more than a glancing blow, he hadn't been able to find them an opening to bring down Al. 

"Now _I_ wish we had guns," Darius muttered as they took their break. 

Ed closed his eyes and grunted. "Angle would have been shit. Should have just sent you two up after them and kept Al distracted on the ground. Fuck." 

"So, next time he claps and drops, we'll stay still and you follow suit," Heinkel suggested. 

Add in some walls to the front of their platforms and they should be fine if Zampano and Jerso decided to try attacking them while Ed was still moving them. Could work. Better, they could use the walls as boosts if Ed had to leave them short to distract Al. "Right," he agreed. 

-0-

Their battles for the rest of that week mostly consisted of one of the teams developing some sort of masterful plan to completely screw the other one over for one battle, with the next battle providing a counter to the previous masterful plan. It was a week of constantly trying to one-up each other, which proved as irritating as it was fun, and Ed, at least, got back to the mainland feeling a lot more secure in his ability to keep tabs on Darius and Heinkel when shit blew up. 

They spent one last night in Dublith, then it was on to Rush Valley. Winry had returned, so Ed got to sit through a lecture about how he was far too hard on his leg – he very kindly didn't mention that most of the scratches were Al's fault – and was he actually incapable of going a month without destroying his automail? 

Ed ignored most of her bitching – he'd heard variations so many times throughout the years, he probably could have yelled at himself for her – and set about complimenting a piece she'd been working on when they'd arrived just before she reached the point where she'd start beating him over the head with the nearest tool to hand, which distracted her beautifully. 

"I'm impressed," Al whispered when Winry left them to get a tool she needed to fix a loose fitting in Ed's leg. 

"Shut up," Ed hissed back, and Al grinned at him, but obediently settled back into his chair without another word. 

They spent a week in Rush Valley, visiting with the people they knew there. Ed let Winry talk him into buying her a particularly expensive toolset that she'd taken approximately three seconds to fall in lust with, while Al and the chimeras laughed at him from a distance, _as if he couldn't read their fucking body language_. He was going to kick all of them in the balls. _With his left foot._

Winry had also, about an hour before their train was due to leave, dragged Ed and Al into a toy shop a couple blocks away from the station. "For Elicia," she explained, and neither brother needed to hear anything more before they were snooping through the offerings. Ed stuck to the books – he knew his taste didn't quite fit for a little girl – while Al tackled the stuffed animals and Winry wandered off to look at fuck knew what. 

When they met back up at the register, Ed had five books (one on Xing, one on Ishval that didn't look racist at a quick glance, two on alchemy, and one about a princess that rescued a prince from a dragon, which had made him laugh), Al had four stuffed animals (a lion, a frog, a monkey, and a pig; Ed had fucking _cackled_ ), and Winry had found a tea set with machine parts painted on it (yeah, Ed was kind of disturbed, too). Winry paid for the tea set herself, but Ed gently shoved Al out of the way and bought both of their shares; he had plenty of funds, with his military job, but Al only had what money was left over from Mum (plus the trust account Ed had set up without Al's knowledge when he'd first made State Alchemist, which he really needed to tell his brother about when they got to Central). 

At the station, Winry held out the tea set to Ed. "Give that to her for me." 

Ed took it with a frown. "You're welcome to come with, you know." 

She sighed and nodded. "I know, but I've been gone over a year, and there's orders I need to do." She glanced back towards the city. "I shouldn't have stayed in Resembool so long, I guess. But..." 

"Yeah. Family's gotta come first, right?" 

She offered him a helpless smile. "Right." Then she reached out and lightly punched his chest. "Every other week, Edward. You promised me." 

"I did," he agreed, taking her hand and squeezing it. "If I can't, for some reason, I'll have Heinkel or Darius ring you, right?" 

"To let me know where I'm coming out to so I can beat you over the head with whatever's left of my leg?" she suggested, a mean gleam in her eyes. 

" _My_ leg," Ed insisted before dropping her hand and taking two quick steps back, in case she decided to retaliate. 

Winry huffed, then hurried forward to hug him as the train pulled into the station. "Stay safe," she ordered as he hugged her back. 

"I'll try," he offered in return, because he was going to get into trouble, and there was no use trying to pretend otherwise. 

She gave a quick nod, then left him to catch Al in a hug. 

"So, when are you going to put a ring on that pretty lady?" Darius teased as they found seats. 

"Brother's in denial," Al confided. 

"All of you, shut your mouths," Ed snapped, before pointing at Darius and Heinkel and insisting, "You two arseholes are staying the fuck out of my love life." 

"Or lack thereof," Al added cheerfully. 

"When're you leaving for Xing again?" Ed complained. 

"Three weeks," Al returned, looking so very gleeful about that. "Have to get all my licks in now; it's never as much fun if I can't see your face." 

"Traitor." 

"I love you too, Brother." 

Ed leant over and bumped his shoulder against Al's. "Yeah," he agreed quietly, and Al offered him an understanding smile. 

-0-

They got into Central late, so went straight to the hotel and checked in, before settling in for the night. The next morning, though, after a group breakfast, Ed and Al waved their goodbyes to the chimeras and made for the Hugheses' place, carting along the gifts they'd bought. On the way, Al made them stop to pick out a bouquet of flowers from a street stall, insisting it was the polite thing to do. 

Gracia was the one to open the door, wearing a wide smile, while they could hear Elicia chattering excitedly in the background. "Hello, Ed, Al," she greeted, stepping back. "Please come in." 

"Hi, Mrs Gracia," Al offered, holding out the flowers to her as they stepped inside. "We picked these up for you on our way, and I'm afraid we may have gone a bit overboard getting gifts for Elicia." His cheeks tinged with pink, which Ed would probably never _not_ find all kinds of amazing. (Not that he intended to ever actually say that to his brother.) 

"These are lovely," Gracia promised as she accepted them. "And, well, Elicia is the mistress of finding places for new toys." She shook her head. "Roy has a bad habit of spoiling her." 

"That's him, isn't it?" Ed guessed, nodding down the hall to where they could hear Elicia still chattering. He hadn't realised what day it was, between all the travelling. 

Gracia let out a quiet laugh. "It is," she admitted, before raising her voice to call, "Though I'm kind of surprised Elicia hasn't come running to greet her big brothers. She must not be aware they brought her gifts." 

There was a brief silence before Elicia said, "Gotta go, Uncle Roy!" and dashed into the hall from an adjoining room, then hurried over to jump at Ed, who was closer, with an excited, "Big Brother!" 

Ed dropped his bags so he could catch her, feeling a grin break out over his face. "Elicia!" he called right back at her, and she giggled into his shirt. 

Gracia laughed quietly as she slipped past them. "Let me go hang up with Roy," she said as Elicia started squirming towards Al. "Elicia will show you through to the living room." 

"Yup!" Elicia agreed once Ed had handed her over to his brother. 

Once she'd had her fill of hugs, Elicia did indeed lead them into the living room, where they handed over her gifts and she exclaimed gleefully over them. When Al explained the reasons behind the various animals – tusks had been added to the pig and a bit more bulk had been added to the monkey to make them look a bit more like a boar and gorilla – Elicia declared that she wanted to meet the four chimeras, and Ed and Al promised they'd bring them over one day. 

"Though," Ed had added, glancing around the flat, "it might get a bit cramped in here with all of them." 

"Don't worry, Brother," Al offered sweetly, "you'll still fit." 

Elicia giggled while Ed made threatening gestures with his fist. 

When Elicia heard that one of her new books was about the place where Mustang was, she insisted they read it right then. Ed had proceeded to make the expected grumbling noises, but he didn't actually mind reading stuff out loud – he blamed Mustang – and none of the books were bad, he'd found when he'd checked them all over on the train. (Certainly not as bad as those fucking law books Mustang had always picked when Ed did something to irritate him.) 

After the Ishval book, Ed had to read the Xing book, then they had a tea party with the set Winry had bought, while Ed passed on some of the things he'd heard about Xing during those times Greed had let Ling have control of their shared body. 

After tea, they tromped outside and Ed and Al debated the arrays they'd need to make it snow, while Elicia collected some of her friends who lived in the same building or in the next one over. Once all of the kids – and most of their parents – had gathered, Ed and Al both clapped their hands together to activate their arrays, then set about chilling the air and drawing the moisture out into snow form. 

"My big brothers," Ed thought he heard Elicia declare while he concentrated on the transmutation, "are _amazing_."

Once they had enough snow for snowmen, both Elrics ended the transmutation, then hurried out to the pavement so they could shift the snow that had fallen on the roadway into the little courtyard garden of the Hugheses' building. With that hazard taken care of, they returned to help Elicia build her snowmen. At her direction, they helpfully cheated with alchemy to make each one look like the person she wanted. By the time they went in for lunch, they had one for each of them, Hughes, Gracia, and Mustang. Gracia had handed a camera over to one of the other parents – Ed hadn't even realised she'd been taking photos – then came over to join them in standing with their snow-selves for a few pictures. 

After lunch, Elicia demanded Ed read the two alchemy books, then got them to show her a few transmutations, leaving her a handful of new toys made from whatever they found in the recycling bin, or repaired toys from her own rather impressive collection. 

They stayed through dinner, and were only allowed to leave after promising to come play with her more the next day. 

"This is going to be a very busy few weeks, if Elicia has anything to say about it," Ed said as they made their way back to the hotel. 

"It's good to see her so happy, though," Al pointed out. 

"Yeah." Ed grinned about that for a moment, then sighed as he recalled the message Gracia had passed on from Mustang. "I guess I should go by Command tomorrow morning and report in. Let Grumman know to put my name on the list for January's command training." 

"Before you 'forget'?" Al suggested, with the tone of someone who knew all too well how good Ed was at avoiding military headquarters. 

Ed cast him a glare, huffing when his brother's only response was a grin. "More like, before Elicia manages to distract me fully." 

Al sighed, slumping slightly. "She's going to be so sad come January. I'm off to Xing, and you'll be spending most of the day in training." 

Ed grimaced. "Yeah. I'm gonna have to ask about that. Her birthday's right smack in the middle, and there's no way I'm missing that _again_. Hughes'll come back from the dead just to drag me over to the party." 

Al laughed. "He would, too. And he'd be going on about how precious she is and shoving pictures in your face the whole way." 

They traded grins. 

"She _is_ pretty precious," Ed pointed out. 

"She is that." 

Ed slowed slightly, his heart sinking. When Al slowed next to him, casting him a worried look, he admitted, "I wish we hadn't stayed away for so long." 

Al sighed and nodded. "I know. But she was safer, for a lot of it, with us gone. And before, too, because Bradley and them didn't know she could have been used against us the same way as Winry." 

Ed swallowed and let out a laugh that sounded hollow to his own ears. "They missed a lot of tricks, those homunculi. Though–" he shuddered, barely resisted the urge to hug himself "–I wonder if they didn't use them against Mustang. I know Hawkeye getting transferred to Bradley's office was to use her as a hostage, but..." 

"Maybe," Al offered when Ed didn't continue, his own expression speaking to how much he hated where their minds had gone. "I don't expect we'll ever know." 

"I don't think I ever _want_ to know," Ed admitted. "They're safe and happy." 

"Let's focus on that," Al agreed, and they brought up their hands to knock their fists together in sync, sealing the promise unspoken: _'Let's keep them that way.'_

.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything I know about officer training came from Wikipedia and the US Army's OCS website. And, while the Fort Benning's site is a fucking train wreck, it did cough up something like a syllabus, so kudos to them.  
> Just, you know. That's where all my ideas are coming from.
> 
> There are a few of side-stories attached to this series (scenes from another PoV than Ed's, some of the not-EdRoy smut, etc), none of which are necessary enough to be in the fic itself, but I wrote them, so I figured I'd post them. The first one is from this chapter, and it's something from Roy's PoV, a scene that sort of gets brushed over, otherwise, without losing anything (I think).  
> The side-stories can only be found on Archive Of Our Own and LiveJournal, because I didn't really want to muck about with it on tumblr, and some of them can't go on FFN, so... Yeah. If you're interested, go for it – I'll always tell you when there's a side-story, though I suggest reading the whole chapter each one's attached to before hunting that side-story down – but I don't think you really lose anything without them.

Ed waved off Darius and Heinkel's offers to come with him the next morning, insisting, "You two have until the start of April for your leave. Might as well steer clear of Command until then." 

"Unless we need to raid the carpool again," Darius pointed out. 

Ed flapped a hand at him. "Shut up. Go amuse yourselves in the city. Take a week trip somewhere and get out of my hair. Something." 

Darius snorted and shooed him out of their hotel room, so he stopped to tell Al he was off, then left for Command. 

He knew, from Fuery, that in rebuilding Command, they'd moved the Führer's office – Major General Armstrong had apparently had some choice comments about the stupidity of an office that made an easy target for snipers – but he had no idea where to. So, once he'd verified at the east gate that, yes, he belonged there, he asked for directions and was handed over to a sergeant to lead him in. 

He sighed, but didn't argue. And, much as he hated to admit it, this whole song and dance would go a lot smoother if he wore the fucking uniform while on base, like Grumman had said. Well, that or his old red coat, but he considered that retired, at this point, and was less interested in wearing it for quick access into Command than he was just fucking dealing with the uniform. (He could hear the jokes about him having grown up already.) 

Anyway, Mustang would probably piss himself to see Ed in uniform, which would make the whole thing worth it. (Aaaaand...there went any jokes about him having grown up.) 

The sergeant stayed with Ed in the front room of Grumman's office while they waited for him to finish a call. Once he was off the phone, his secretary went through to let them know who was waiting for him, and Grumman himself came out, wearing a really obnoxious smile. "Major Elric," he said while everyone out in the office, save Ed, came to attention. 

"Führer," Ed replied drily as he started over to the man. "Mustang said I needed to let you know I'm gonna do the fucking officer training." 

Grumman chuckled and motioned for Ed to follow him into the office, past the secretary, who was staring at Ed like she couldn't believe he'd so casually cursed in front of the Führer (or not show him the proper respect, or whatever bullshit). "Thank you, Second Lieutenant Days," Grumman called as he rounded his desk, and the secretary quickly closed the door behind her as she left. "Please have a seat, Major," he told Ed, motioning towards the chair seated directly in front of the large desk as he settled into his own chair. 

Ed sighed and sat politely in the offered seat, rather than tossing himself into it sideways. While Grumman seemed to be amused by his usual insubordination, there was no reason to keep pushing the man, just to see how far he could. And, anyway, he wanted things from him – like the okay to attend Elicia's birthday party – and the easiest way to get what he wanted was to be polite. Which he knew, he just usually didn't _care_ , and politeness had never really figured into his relationship with Mustang, who was usually the person he needed to ask for things. "Sorry about the no uniform thing," he offered with a careless shrug. "Figure I'll pick the damn thing up on my way out." 

"You're still on leave, officially," Grumman replied, "so we can let it slide today." Then he smiled. "Perhaps I'll walk you down there after, stretch my legs a bit." 

Ed snorted. "Pretty sure Al'll kill me if I come back without a uniform, but, sure, don't let me stop you from walking around your own damn building." 

"Much obliged," Grumman said, his eyes fucking _sparkling_ , before he leant over behind his desk and opened what Ed assumed was the bottom drawer. "I expect you'll be wanting into the January class?" he asked, clearly getting down to business. 

Ed straightened in his seat. "Yeah. Though, I kinda promised Elicia Hughes I'd come to her birthday party on February eighteenth, if that's going to be a problem?" 

Grumman hummed as he set a small pile of paper on his desk before straightening in his chair. "Normally, yes," he allowed, and Ed pressed his lips together tightly to keep himself quiet, "but I believe we can make an exception, given she's the daughter of the late Brigadier General Hughes." He flashed Ed a smile. "Also, Brigadier General Mustang has requested leave for the last two weeks of February, though he's been quite close-mouthed as to why; thank you for clarifying." 

Ed very determinedly didn't groan; Mustang was going to fucking kill him. 

Grumman picked up a pen and started marking on the top paper he'd pulled out. "You're aware that you'll need to earn phone privileges once the course starts?" 

Ed stiffened. "No. I promised my mechanic I'd ring her every other week." 

Grumman gave him a considering look. "Either learn to curb your attitude, or tell her you won't be able to call her," he said, his tone firm, and Ed winced. Grumman's tone eased slightly as he added, "You're physically fit, an acclaimed genius, and a capable leader; you may be able to win your phone privileges through excelling at those portions of the course, but if your group commander knows how much you want them, he may hold them over your head as punishment for your insubordination." 

Ed sighed. "Fucking military and your fucking false faces. This shit is why half the country thinks you all suck." 

Grumman shrugged. "I can't change the whole military in a year, Elric. And, need I remind you, you're _part_ of the military." 

"People's Alchemist," Ed reminded him, only a little smugly. "People like me." 

Grumman snorted and set down his pen, then started flipping through the papers in front of him. "Training is held out at Fort Forsthaus, in the north-western corner of the central area. There will be a train leaving from Central City station at oh-eight hundred hours the Friday before, which will take you to Gamitz, where you will be divided into vehicles and driven out to the fort." He pulled out a couple pages, set them aside, then continued flipping through the stack. "The train carries both normal enlisted recruits and command candidates. You're welcome to mingle while on the train, but you'll be divided by seniority once at the vehicles. All physical classes, including the fitness tests, will involve both recruits and command candidates, but the classroom portions will only be with your fellow command candidates." He pulled out another page, then kept going through the pile. 

"Command candidates receive private rooms, as opposed to the barracks of the enlisted recruits, but they'll still be inspected every morning. The fewer civilian articles you bring in with you, the easier it will be to keep your room clean." He glanced at Ed. "Speaking from experience." 

Ed suppressed a smile. "I figured." 

Grumman nodded and pulled out another page from his pile, which he then held out for Ed to take. "This is a list of all the items you'll need. You're welcome to get the writing and personal hygiene implements anywhere, and you'll be picking up your basic uniform today, which you'll need to wear on the train." He stared at Ed until he looked up from the list and nodded in understanding. "You can remove your rank and honours on the train, but you're expected to wear them at the fort while in uniform, same with your pocket watch. Once at the fort, they'll supply you with exercise clothing, as well as a slightly more comfortable uniform for classes. You're expected to wear your pocket watch with the classroom uniform, but not with your exercise wear." 

Ed sighed. "Why do you people complicate this shit?" he couldn't resist complaining. 

"It amuses us," Grumman replied with a hint of amusement, before efficiently stacking the papers he'd pulled out earlier and holding them out to Ed. "These are the train schedule, a mission statement, etc. Keep them or bin them as you see fit." 

Ed glanced through the papers, frowning faintly. "Second lieutenant?" he asked, holding up the mission statement, which said the officer training was intended to give candidates the knowledge and skills necessary to be a second lieutenant. 

Grumman nodded. "State Alchemists, as I'm sure you're aware, tend to be a bit outside the command structure. Normal enlisted are required to go through command training to be promoted to second lieutenant, but State Alchemists only need it to receive a proper certification and the duties of an officer, should that be their preference. Most don't bother or, like Brigadier General Mustang, originally entered the military as an enlisted soldier and attended command training shortly after receiving their pocket watch, simply using the State Alchemist program as an assist up the ladder." 

Ed blinked back down at the paper, turning that over in his mind. From what Hawkeye had said, Mustang had already been an alchemist before joining the military and had only tried for the State Alchemist program to be of more use in Ishval. Though, knowing Mustang like he did, it wouldn't surprise him if the bastard _had_ used his State Alchemist certification to make the jump to major without having to fuss about rubbing elbows with his superiors. "So," he said, "I'm unusual." Well, he already knew that. 

"Extremely," Grumman agreed. "Do feel free to lead by example and drag Major Armstrong out of his current rut." 

Ed snorted. "That a request from you, or the Major General?" 

Grumman's moustache twitched. "I wonder," he murmured, and Ed snorted again as he straightened his handful of papers. Grumman sighed and sat back. "Elric, you're an unusual case for a number of reasons," he offered, his tone serious, and Ed frowned at him. "You _will_ be graduating the program as a lieutenant colonel come the end of March, one way or the other, whereas your fellow candidates may be held back to fulfil any requirements." 

Ed narrowed his eyes. "Why?" He would have been perfectly happy staying as a major, with or without the officer's certification, had Grumman not made a point of pushing the promotion on him; as much as the man seemed to like Mustang, he couldn't see him pushing Ed's graduation through just to help him. 

"Bradley had a lot of supporters who managed to slip through our fingers, and I need them rounded up before something boils over," Grumman offered, tone a little flat. "You _are_ the People's Alchemist, and it's my hope that seeing you working with myself will help soothe tempers and displace some of the murmurs." 

Ed's jaw clenched; _politics_. "You want me to be your fucking show pony," he got out through gritted teeth. 

Grumman's eyes were hard. "I want you to do your _job_ , Major. You made a name for yourself while you were running around playing loose cannon, and you're going to use that name to keep a civil war from breaking out." 

Ed's breath caught; a _civil war_? Was it really that fucking bad? Fuck, how much had he missed in Resembool? 

"Do I make myself clear?" Grumman demanded. 

Ed swallowed and whispered, "Yes, sir." 

Grumman tilted his head to the side, motioning towards his ear. "I couldn't hear you, Major Elric." 

Ed clenched his fists, papers crinkling, and said, at his normal volume, "Yes, sir." 

Grumman nodded and stood. "Good." Then he put on a wide smile which, Ed couldn't help but notice, didn't reach his eyes. "Why don't we see about that uniform?" 

Ed stood himself and followed Grumman from the room in silence, feeling rather out of sorts. 

"When should I expect to see Second Lieutenants Wright and Potez?" Grumman asked once they were out in the hallways of Command. 

It took Ed a second to figure out Grumman had aimed that question at him, and an embarrassingly long moment to realise he was asking after Darius and Heinkel. "Oh. Erm, I told them to hang tight until the beginning of April, since you gave them a year, right? Same as me?" 

"I did," Grumman agreed, before casting a glance towards Ed. "Have you ever heard of Madame Christmas, Major?" 

Ed frowned. "Madame Christmas? No, I don't believe so." 

"It's a pub here in Central. You might consider paying it a visit sometime in the coming weeks, before you leave for training. Meet the proprietor." 

A pub? Ed felt his frown deepen. Not his usual sort of haunt (though he suspected he was more familiar with them than most people who knew him would assume), but Grumman was clearly up to something. "Maybe I will," he allowed. 

Grumman smiled at him. "Oh, and do please tell the madam that her boy is doing fine for me, would you?" 

_Definitely_ up to something, if Ed could only figure out _what_. "Sure." 

Getting his uniform was probably the easiest part of Ed's whole trip, and he parted from the Führer shortly after, heading back out into the city and towards his hotel. 

In the hotel lobby, he saw the stack of daily papers on the counter and, frowning, handed over the coin for one, then took it up to his and Al's shared room. There, he dropped his uniform and the papers from Grumman on his bed, then sat down next to them and spread the paper out over his sheets. 

The front page was tedious drivel, with the next two pages following suit. Page four, however, had a large article about Ishval, with a number of people speaking out against the rebuilding. That had Ed's jaw clenching in time to find the story on page five, which was a politely worded commentary on how Grumman was destroying Amestris. 

"Fuck," Ed breathed, before flipping back to the cover story and glancing at it, then the next two pages he'd passed. Each one had vague allusions to the 'good old days' under Bradley's rule, and Ed had to get up and pace, work off some of his angry energy. There he'd been, sitting pretty in Resembool, and the country was fucking falling apart around him. 

Well, if he hadn't been serious about sticking with the military before, he was _now_.

-0-

Somehow, Ed had managed a smile for Elicia and Gracia when he made it over at lunchtime. It clearly didn't fool Al for a second, but he waited until they'd said goodbye after dinner and were heading back to the hotel before asking, "What happened?" 

"You remember how Mustang had to make Bradley out to be a victim?" Ed asked, glancing around the evening streets with, he felt, eyes that saw a lot more than they had done. 

"Yeah, sure, get the people on his side." 

"Can you imagine how hard it would be to weed out all his and the Dwarf in the Flask's supporters when they're agreeing with the crowd?" Because Ed had a pretty good idea how those people had hidden from whatever clean-up Grumman had set into motion once the physical battles were done, how they were _still_ keeping hidden. 

Al stopped walking and Ed paused to look back at him, watched as he followed the pathways Ed had just laid out for him and came to the same conclusion that Grumman had spelled out for him that morning. ' _War_?' he mouthed. 

Ed clenched his jaw and nodded. 

Al's mouth thinned the exact same way Mum's always had when she was angry and trying not to show it. "Do I need to stay?" he asked. 

Ed immediately shook his head. "Fuck no." His mind made an odd little sideways shuffle and he grimaced even as he said, "Talk to Ling. Might be nice to see Amestris and one of her neighbours playing friendly, don't you think?" 

Al's eyes narrowed and he started walking again, Ed falling in next to him as he caught up. "Politics don't suit you, Brother," he warned. 

Ed huffed. "If I'm going to be a pawn, I might as well pick up the rulebook." 

"Pretty sure you're more of a knight," Al offered. 

Ed considered that for a moment, then nodded; the knight got into the middle of things, got their hands dirty on the orders of their commander, and hadn't Grumman given him a rather cryptic order? "Good point." He shoved his hands into his pockets, the fingers of his right hand brushing the familiar curve of his pocket watch and the pitted side of the lighter, while his left found the jingle of coins mixed with diamonds. "Grumman said I should check out a pub. Wanted me to pass a message on to the owner." 

Al glanced at him. "Do you want to go tonight?" 

"Once we figure out where it is," Ed agreed. 

They asked for directions at the hotel front desk and, after leaving a message for the chimeras if they came looking for them, set out for what turned out to be a fairly seedy part of town. 

"Are we old enough to go in there?" Al asked a bit dubiously as they eyed the street board for Madame Christmas, which appeared to be more than just a simple pub. 

"Only one way to find out," Ed offered before starting across the street. Not that Al knew it – not that Ed had any interest in explaining – but he was far more familiar with pickup bars than he was your average pub, after all the times Greed had dragged him along with him on his eternal quest for more sex and more alcohol, preferably at the same time. 

" _Brother_!" Al hissed as he ran to catch up. 

Ed glanced at him, taking in his vaguely panicked look, and slowed his pace a bit to knock their shoulders together. "Don't make eye contact unless you're interested," he suggested. 

Al gave a tense nod and kept his eyes down as Ed pushed their way into the place. 

It was a lot cleaner than he was used to, but clearly well-sponsored, by the number of bodies taking up tables, some of whom wore military uniforms, while the other men looked to be white collar – and fairly well-to-do, by Ed's judge. A faint haze of smoke lingered in the air, giving the room a dream-like quality, and the taste of alcohol made the back of Ed's throat burn and memories of his time on the run with Greed and the chimeras come to mind as he breathed it in. 

"Well hello there, boys," a young woman, who couldn't have been much older than Ed, said as she stepped up to them. She smiled at him from under half-closed eyes and pushed her chest out a bit, displaying ample cleavage. Behind Ed, Al let out a quiet noise of distress and shifted a little closer to Ed. "You look a little out of place." 

Ed gave a careless shrug. "Maybe. Got told to find the proprietor of Madame Christmas, though, so here I am." And then he flashed her his best 'all hell's about to break loose' smile. "Wouldn't happen to be you, would it?" 

Her mouth curved with a dangerous little smile and she curled a finger at him before turning and walking towards the bar. 

"Come on," Ed murmured, catching one of Al's hands with his own and pulling him after their guide. 

"Got a couple lost boys for you, Madam," their guide said to the person tending the bar, a rather heavy-set woman who looked to be contributing at least half of the smoke in the room. 

The bartender looked them over. Her eyes caught on the chain at Ed's hip, then came back to meet his eyes, her own narrowing in a very familiar, almost calculating manner. "So I see. Thank you, Peggy." As their guide walked away, she added, "Why don't you sit down, Mr Elric." 

'Mister'? Ed raised an eyebrow at that – he'd clearly been spending too much time around military sort if he'd actually expected his rank – even as he pulled Al over to join him on the mostly empty barstools that the woman motioned them towards. 

"What'll it be?" the woman asked, and there was a familiar turn to her lips, one that said she already knew the answer. 

Ed narrowed his eyes and took a moment to debate the wisdom of his choice, before deciding, "I'll have whatever you've got on tap–"

" _Brother_!" Al hissed. 

"–he'll have whatever non-alcoholic you've got." 

The woman let out a deep chuckle and turned to get their drinks without comment. When she handed them over, she made no secret about watching Ed, and he barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he took a sip of what turned out to be fairly high-end beer. 

"Huh," he said, setting his glass down and turning to the woman. "So, this old man I know with a really fucking obnoxious laugh told me to pass on that your boy is doing fine." 

She smiled. "Of course he is. Though, I do have to wonder if you know who my boy is." 

Ed snorted and took another sip of his beer. "I have a suspicion," he offered. "You have the same knowing smile I usually want to punch off my CO's face." 

She laughed outright at that and picked up a glass to idly wipe clean. "Of course I do," she agreed, essentially confirming that she was related in some way to Mustang. "Now then, why might George have sent you to me?" 

'George?' Ed mouthed, glancing towards Al, who shrugged, clearly already far out of his depth. Ed turned back to the madam and shook his head. "I have no fucking clue?" 

She put on that punch-worthy knowing smile of Mustang's and asked, "What were you talking about before he sent you to me?" 

Ed sipped at his beer as he turned his mind back to his conversation with Grumman – 'George', apparently. He hadn't mentioned Madame Christmas until they were out in the halls of Command, after Grumman had asked after Darius and Heinkel. "My team," he murmured into his drink, and Al glanced over. "Wanted to know when they were off leave." 

The madam raised her eyebrows at him. "Grumman's giving State Alchemists teams, now? This country really is falling apart." 

Ed stiffened and he shot her a sharp look, only to be met, again, by that knowing smile. He took another sip of his beer, giving himself a moment to swallow the urge to tell her to fuck off about Grumman, because that comment had clearly been meant as either a test to gauge his loyalties, or a way to ask a question without actually seeming to ask a question. 

And, fuck it all, he was not cut out for these cloak and dagger games that Grumman was trying to involve him in. 

He huffed. "You clearly haven't talked to your boy recently; I'm getting a promotion." 

She blinked, a sign of surprise that could have been easily overlooked, if Ed hadn't seen the same from Mustang a dozen times over the years, learnt to read his most minuscule expressions because they were all he had to go on, and he had never been able to ignore a chance to hold even the most minor victory over the bastard's head. "It's been a little hard to set up lines of communication," she offered before turning away to switch out glasses. 

Yeah, Ed didn't expect Mustang would be too comfortable ringing up a madam in Central from the Resembool station, especially not while Ed was hanging around. _Doubly_ especially not after Ed's mocking comment about the lack of women in Ishval. 

As the madam turned back around, the same woman who had met them at the door leant forward around Ed, pressing her ample chest against his shoulder, and he let out a resigned sigh, while Al let out an embarrassed cough into his glass, very obviously looking away, face tinged pink. The madam cast them a brief smile, which was only a _little_ smirky, then said, "Peggy, would you take these boys up to my office? I'll be up to call their parents once I finish refilling some glasses." 

"Sure thing, Madam!" she agreed, pulling back and tapping both Ed and Al's shoulders. "Up, boys. Come on." 

Ed traded a glance with Al, who shrugged and obediently stood, bringing his drink with him. With a sigh, Ed followed his lead, and they both followed their continued guide up a set of stairs hidden away behind a bead curtain in a dark corner of the room. They came to a dim hallway lined with closed doors, moans and the rhythmic thumping of furniture against a wall emanating from a number of them. Past all the doors, they were led up another staircase to another hallway, this one better lit and near-silent. 

Their guide looked back over her shoulder and grinned at them before turning enough to pinch one of Al's cheeks, which Ed could see, in the stronger light, had turned that particular shade of red that had once been reserved for praise from Mum or fighting over who would marry Winry. "You," their guide told Al, "are adorable. Oh, I wish I could keep you." 

Al's eyes widened and Ed found his wrist being grabbed; a sure sign that his brother needed an intervention. "Back off," he ordered in his hardest voice, and their guide's gaze swung towards him. "Right now." 

She obediently stepped back, her hand dropping from Al's cheek. "Protective, aren't you?" she murmured. 

"I'm a big fan of consent," Ed said, and it was a struggle to keep his voice even. "Leave him alone." 

She considered him for a moment, then gave a sharp nod and turned to lead them a little further down the hall, before opening one of the doors and motioning for them to enter. "The madam's office, gentlemen." 

Once they'd both stepped inside the office – which was surprisingly large, Ed thought, and covered in papers – their guide closed them in, leaving them to snoop or not at their leisure. 

Yeah, Ed was totally snooping, especially since he caught sight of a very familiar messy hairstyle in a picture on the desk. It turned out to be a picture of a young Mustang, in uniform, standing next to the madam, who was hugging him around the shoulders and looking proud, while he made a rather out-of-character face at someone outside the frame. 

"Brother?" Al called. 

Ed glanced towards him. "Al?" he replied, before his eyes were caught by one of the papers on the desk. It looked to be in some sort of code, but before he could set about cracking it, Al snapped, "Edward!" 

Ed jumped and offered his brother a sheepish look. "Sorry." 

Al pointed at the chair next to the one he'd settled into. "Sit. _Now_."

Ed knew better than to push that tone, so he moved over to sit in the chair he was being directed toward. 

Once he'd sat, Al demanded, "Since when have you drank?" 

Ed rolled his eyes, because he had a safe response to that and could afford to be obvious. "You're overstating," he insisted. "It's not like I go _looking_ for drinks." 

" _Brother_."

Ed sighed. "Greed didn't think it was right, having a henchman who'd never had alcohol before. I was 'instructed', then threw my first glass in his face because it was vile. This–" he raised his current glass, which was less than half full "–isn't bad." 

The door opened and the madam said, "I'll take that as a compliment," as she stepped inside. 

"Feel free." 

The madam smirked at them as she settled behind the desk. "This room is clear of bugs and nothing said in here can be heard downstairs." 

Ed had actually kind of assumed the latter from the lack of sex noises coming up through the floor, but it was always nice to have confirmation. Also nice to know that they could be heard by someone standing outside the door to the office, though he expected she had guards against that. 

"I'm Chris Mustang," she offered, "though I go by Madame Christmas." 

"Ed Elric," Ed offered, "and my brother, Al." 

Chris' eyes gleamed. "Yes, my nephew speaks of you quite often." 

"Bitches about me, you mean," Ed shot back, even as he marked the relation in his mind. 

"I'm sure it's mutual," Chris said, and Ed spotted Al nodding out of the corner of his eye. 

"Traitor," he muttered and Al muffled a snicker into his glass. 

Chris sat back in her chair. "I run an intelligence group," she explained and Ed felt his eyes widen as some pieces fell into place. "George – Führer Grumman – would only have sent you to me if he thought you could either use my connections, or I could use you." 

"Or both," Ed murmured, before setting his glass on the edge of her desk and straightening. "Grumman wants to use me to weed out Bradley's remaining supporters. I'll be in officer training until the end of March, but it would be nice to hit the ground running." 

Chris' eyes narrowed. "You mentioned a team?" 

Ed nodded. "Two second lieutenants, Darius Wright and Heinkel Potez. They fought with us against the Dwar–" No, most people didn't know him by that name. "Father." And calling him that would always rankle; Ed had enough issues with his father without adding in the monstrous creation birthed from his blood who had got everyone to refer to him as 'Father'. 

"How much do you trust them?" 

"With my life," Ed replied without hesitation, because he did trust them that much, even if he and Darius spent half their time together wanting to throttle each other. 

"Do you trust them with _his_ life?" Chris demanded, pointing at Al. 

Ed met her stare. "Yes. And I'd trust them with the life of Elicia Hughes." Because Ed and Al could fucking take care of themselves, but Elicia couldn't, and if she was related to Mustang, she'd know plenty about the girl. 

Chris raised an eyebrow at that, but nodded. "I can tell you right off where the problems are in the east or south, and Armstrong is keeping track of the north, but there's a large section of the west, along the border with Drachma, that no one can get a handle on, mostly because there's no train service." 

Ed nodded. He knew the area she was speaking of – could see it on his mental map of Amestris – but had never been out there himself, having spent most of his military career stationed in East City. (Well, 'stationed' was really just a way of saying that his CO was stationed in East City and so all of his orders came from there, until Mustang had been moved to Central right before everything went to shit.) 

Chris leant forward over her desk, so much of her bearing like Mustang's when he was intent on something, it was creepy, especially with the addition of cleavage. "Can you send your team west and get them to stir up some trouble?" 

Considering that Darius seemed to view stirring up trouble the same way Ed did? "Probably," he allowed, and Al let out a groan. Ed snorted at his brother, then added, "I'll ask them." 

Chris nodded. "Let me know. If they do decide to tackle it, have them send back weekly reports to Madame Christmas and I'll make sure it's properly disseminated." 

Ed sighed. "I'm going to regret saying this, but I'd like copies of their reports." The last thing he'd need was more paperwork on top of classwork and whatever other shit he'd have to suffer through during training, but if he couldn't go with them and watch their backs, at least he could keep an eye on them through their reports. 

Chris' smile was almost approving. "There's an older woman among the kitchen staff, Maggie Smith, who serves as my eyes and ears in Fort Forsthaus. Anything I get from your men, as well as any general updates and, come the end of March, everything I've got on the largest trouble spots, I'll send through her." 

Ed felt his eyebrows raise at that. "Cool." 

Al snorted. "How secure is the post-delivery at the fort?" he asked. 

Chris frowned. "I wouldn't send anything sensitive unless it was in code, but that tends to hold true for most post that goes through military lines." 

Ed and Al traded frowns; they had a couple codes they could use, familiar enough with how each other kept their alchemy research notes, as well as how Hohenheim had organised his notes, that they could communicate that way without too much trouble. But, if someone managed to break their personal codes in letters, that meant their research notes wouldn't be safe, and they'd spent too much time studying dangerous and illegal forms of alchemy. 

Al flicked his eyes towards Chris, a question in his eyes: 'Do we trust her?'

Ed grimaced and shrugged: 'What choice do we really have?'

Al sighed nearly soundlessly, then turned back to Chris. "Once Brother leaves for his training, I'm heading out to Xing, to study their alkahestry. I promised I'd send back monthly letters, but, well." He put on a disarming smile, something that Ed had never mastered. "You know the brigadier general, so I expect you know how we alchemists are about sharing our research around." 

"I do," Chris agreed. "If you send your letters to me, I can promise they'll get to your brother, unopened, even after he's finished with training, no matter where he is in Amestris." 

Ed glanced at Al, who immediately nodded to him; that was a far better chance for keeping contact than they'd had any right to expect. Ed had honestly expected monthly letters to turn into, 'I'll pick them up when I'm at whichever Command I'm attached to when I go through'. He snorted and Al grinned. 

"That would be greatly appreciated, thank you," Al told Chris as he turned back to her. 

Chris offered them a smile that immediately put Ed on guard, and he heard Al shift next to him. "Equivalent exchange," she said. "I need to get a package to Roy-Boy–"

Ed blinked. 'Roy-Boy?' he mouthed, even as Al growled, "Brother, _no_ ," as though he thought it would actually stop Ed from hanging that over Mustang's head the first chance he got. 

Chris snorted, and Ed suspected she knew she'd just handed over a potential weapon to him. "Elric," she called, and Ed refocussed on her. "I can't get fingers in Ishval, and I don't trust military post any more than you do. You two are from that area; do you have a way to get him a package without arousing too much suspicion?" 

"We could send Zampano or Jerso," Al offered, and Ed glanced over at him. "They could walk it out to him, or wait until he comes into town for his weekly phone calls." 

Ed shook his head. "They'll stand out," he insisted. "You know how Resembool is, new faces are always cause for gossip, and I expect the Ishval camp is going to be just as bad." Getting a package to Mustang? Havoc would be the obvious choice, but he'd be nearly as notable in Resembool, and would stand out even more in the military camp, unless he wanted to unbury a uniform. 

"Granny?" Al suggested. 

Granny could work, but a different face also popped into Ed's mind and he straightened. "Marie," he said, and Al frowned. "I've had her stop Mustang on his way out of town with doughnuts a few times." He looked at Chris, who had raised her eyebrows at him. "Shut up. How big's the package?" 

"Bigger than a doughnut," Chris said, her tone dry, as she got up and went over to a shelf against one wall. She pulled a rectangular object off it, wrapped in what looked to be brown packing paper. "This." 

"Bread loaf," Al immediately said. "It'd fit perfectly in one of her bread loaf bags." 

Ed nodded. "We'll have to post it first thing in the morning if he's going to get it next time he comes up from Ishval, but, yeah, we can handle it. Unless you've got something against civilian post?" he added, looking at Chris. 

She shook her head. "It's generally fairly trustworthy, more so if you're not posting to a recognisable name." 

Like Mustang, or Ed himself. And how the hell had Ed got himself involved in this shadow-play? Ugh. Fucking Dwarf in the Flask, this shit was his fault. 

Ed held out his hand for the package and she handed it over after a brief moment of hesitation. It wasn't particularly heavy, but it had a certain give to it, like stacked books, and he glanced at the edge to judge the width. "Two books?" he guessed. 

"Journals," Chris agreed, settling back in her chair. 

Ed nodded. "Do you mind if I change the wrapping a bit?" 

"Alchemy," Al added, very likely guessing exactly what Ed was up to. 

"Feel free," Chris said, and there was a very obvious note of curiosity in her voice. 

Ed set the books in his lap and clapped his hands together, envisioning the array he'd need, then touched the top very lightly. The brown paper shifted under his direction, lightening slightly, to more closely match the shade of Marie's bread loafs, and gaining some rigidity, which should both keep anyone from guessing what it was, while also keeping it from slumping oddly in the bread bag. "Do you have a pen?" he asked as he ended the transmutation. 

Something rattled on Chris' desk and Ed looked up to find her digging out a pen from a groove in the wood that was filled with writing implements, which she then held out to him with a raised eyebrow. 

Ed took it with a grin and stood the package up, giving him access to the top of the books, which would be the first thing Mustang saw when he looked into the bread bag. "Just leaving him a note, and a deterrent against the curious," he offered before quickly sketching a circle and filling in a series of lines and symbols. A particularly complicated array, to those with none or limited alchemy knowledge; or, to someone who had studied beyond the most basic of arrays, very clearly a dud, a failure of an array that would do absolutely nothing if one tried activating it. But, to someone with a mastery of alchemy – or, more importantly, who had met Truth – it was a message that read, 'Brigadier General Bastard just doesn't roll off the tongue right'. 

Al, who had been watching around his shoulder, started laughing as Ed finished the last few lines, most of which were purely decorative, meant to confuse the eye. "Brother, that's _terrible_."

"But accurate," Ed insisted. "He needs to get promoted already so I can start calling him Führer Bastard." 

Chris practically cackled, and Ed turned to her, half disbelieving, half way too fucking amused. "I like your priorities, kid." 

"What a coincidence, so do I," Ed said, holding the pen back out to her. As she took it, he let his expression shift into something more serious and offered, "I won't be able to send anything out to him like this while I'm stuck in training, for obvious reasons, but I can make a point to drop by Central once I'm out in the field, take anything down with me when I report in." 

Chris nodded. "I'll keep that in mind." She glanced towards a clock on the wall, then stood. "If they agree, bring your team past once before they head out west, so I know what they look like." 

"Sure," Ed agreed as both he and Al followed her lead and stood. "Next time, I'll leave Al at the hotel," he added teasingly. 

"Be quiet, Brother," Al muttered, and Chris offered them her knowing smirk as she collected their glasses, then motioned for them to follow her out. 

She took them down a different route from how they'd been brought up, avoiding the sex hallway – Al was visibly relieved – and letting them out the back door, which avoided the front room and, Ed assumed, any questions about how long they'd been holed up in her office. 

Once they'd passed back out into the open streets they were more familiar with, Ed murmured, "Well, that was informative." 

Al nodded. "And fruitful," he agreed before sighing. "Brother?" 

"Hm?" 

"Do you feel like we're getting in over our heads?" 

Ed considered ranting about how he wasn't short, just for familiarity's sake, but settled for letting out his own sigh and glancing down at the package in his hand, the false array glaring up at him against the paper. "Almost wish we hadn't got our bodies back," he offered. "Things were simpler, back then." 

"Were they?" Al asked quietly. 

Ed considered that for a moment, then amended, "Clearer. More direct." 

"True," Al agreed. 

They were both quiet until the hotel came into view, then Al said, "I want to go through Xerxes. Spend a couple weeks looking around." 

Ed glanced at him. "Key parts are missing, but consider destroying the remainder of the array," he suggested. 

Al's mouth tightened; he clearly remembered what Ed had told him about the partial transmutation circle he'd seen at the ruins, as well as the parts that had been in Gluttony's stomach. "I will." 

Ed nodded and they fell silent again as they entered the hotel. 

Ed stopped by Darius and Heinkel's room before his own, laying out Chris' job for them. "Think about it," he suggested once he'd finished. 

Darius and Heinkel traded looks, then Heinkel drily said, "We've thought about it." 

"Of _course_ we'll do it," Darius added, rolling his eyes. "What else are we supposed to do while you're getting respect beat into you." 

"I think you underestimate the resiliency of my natural insubordination," Ed retorted and Darius laughed while Heinkel hid a smile. "But, yeah, I'd kind of expected you'd agree. The madam wants us to drop by before you leave, and Al and I wanted to introduce you four to the Hugheses, but you can leave whenever you want to after that." 

"Let's get through all that, then we'll start looking at train schedules," Heinkel offered. 

Ed grinned and turned to leave. "Cool. See you arseholes in the morning, then." 

"Night, Ed," Heinkel replied, while Darius made a disgruntled noise that sounded suspiciously like 'insubordinate fuck', and Ed laughed as he returned to his and Al's room. 

He stayed up long enough to write Marie a short note and set it, the books, and a banknote to cover an actual loaf of bread – giving an air of truth to the request – into a box that Al had found while Ed was talking with Darius and Heinkel. A brief transmutation and the use of the pen he kept with his journal got the box ready to post in the morning, and he set it aside before heading for bed. 

-0-

The next day was, again, spent with the Hugheses. They went out to a park not far from their flat and the chimeras met them there. Jerso and Zampano both had children, according to Al, so they had very little trouble managing Elicia. Darius seemed a little uncertain, at first, afraid he'd misjudge his strength, but Ed just rolled his eyes and pointed out, "I held her with an automail arm when she was a baby, and Al did the same as armour; at least you can feel the amount of pressure you're exerting." Which, while it hadn't completely soothed Darius' concerns, he seemed far more willing to play with her, and he dragged Heinkel along after him, despite all protestations about being bad with kids. 

"What am I going to do with those two?" Ed muttered, and Gracia, who was standing right next to him, laughed. 

Darius and Heinkel left to go west two days later, after a night at Madame Christmas', which they looked rather like they were regretting as they got onto the train, much to Ed's endless amusement. 

When Ed and Al got to the Hugheses' a couple days later, coming by after lunch because Ed knew it was the day Mustang usually called and he didn't want to cut the man's chat short again, Gracia was frowning slightly as she met them at the door. 

"What's wrong?" Al asked as she let them in. 

Gracia looked at Ed. "Roy told me to pass on that you could just call him Brigadier General Mustang?" 

Al started laughing while Ed snorted. "That'll be the day," he declared. 

Elicia interrupted them, then, already talking a mile a minute about the kid-friendly updates her 'Uncle Roy' had passed on, effectively ending any further discussion about Mustang's comment. Not that it mattered, the message had been passed on: Mustang had got his package. 

-0-

The Thursday before Ed's train off to training, he and Al sat down with Elicia to explain they were both leaving for a while. She was, expectedly, upset, especially since neither of them could promise the same weekly phone calls that Mustang managed. Ed's promise that he would – absolutely, definitely, and without fail – be at her birthday had soothed her a little bit, but it was clear she wasn't happy that she'd have to go almost two months without hearing from him. (His and Al's daily visits may have spoiled her a little bit.) 

Al's own inability to promise an appearance at her birthday party had resulted in tears, but he'd been quick to offer, "I'm going to bring a camera with me, right? I'll take pictures of everything I see and send them back, and then it'll be like you're seeing everything with me." 

She'd sniffed and wiped roughly at her cheek. "You have to be in the pictures," she insisted. "It's the rule." 

Given how few pictures existed of her father, Ed could make a pretty good guess what had spawned that 'rule', and he knew his brother was equally aware. "Absolutely," Al had agreed, reaching out and lightly blotting her tears with the handkerchief that Ed had teased him mercilessly about when he'd first got it, until it had proved invaluable in looking after a particularly active almost-five-year-old. "But you have to send me pictures of you back, right? _Especially_ your birthday party." 

Elicia took a moment to give that the necessary consideration while Al finished wiping her face, then gave a slow nod. "Okay," she agreed, before turning on Ed. "Pictures?" 

Ed grimaced. "I don't think I'm allowed a camera," he offered, though he suspected he could sneak one in if he really had to, and it shouldn't be too hard to develop the film, if he couldn't find one of the instant-developing cameras. "How about we just plan to take lots and lots of pictures on your birthday?" he suggested instead. "We can drag your Uncle Roy into it, too." Which could prove a lot of fun, as he suspected that Elicia was one person Mustang wouldn't be able to say no to. (Not that Ed or Al had yet been able to deny her anything; if Elicia got it into her head to one day rule the world, Ed was fairly certain they were all doomed.) 

Al just rolled his eyes at Ed's continued schemes to annoy his CO, while Elicia exclaimed gleefully about the idea and started planning all the events they'd have to take pictures of, including a tea party, which was about the point that Ed completely lost his shit and had to giggle stupidly on the floor for a while. 

Seriously. This was going to be the best birthday party he'd ever attended, and it wasn't even his own. 

-0-

Somehow, Gracia had got Ed to agree to come by before his train left. When he'd tried pointing out that it was leaving at eight in the morning, she'd drily replied, "Elicia usually wakes me up a little before six. Come by; I want a picture of you in uniform." 

So, with much grumbling, most of which was for show, Ed dragged himself up to the Hugheses' flat at six thirty Friday morning, dressed to impress in his uniform – which he'd spent the night before adding carbon fibres to, as a just in case, and he'd packed plenty more to outfit the other clothing he'd be getting at Fort Forsthaus – with his much-abused suitcase at his side. 

Elicia was the one who opened the door, and her eyes went wide when she saw him. "Big Brother Ed's all dressed up, Mama!" she called down the hall. 

Gracia appeared behind her with a tired smile. "Coffee?" she offered, holding out a mug. 

Ed accepted it with a grateful sound and stepped into the flat, closing the door behind himself. "You're the best," he promised around a sip, before crouching down in front of Elicia. "What do you think? Should I stick with the blue, or go back to my usual white and black?" 

Elicia took a moment to consider that while Gracia vanished back into the flat. Finally, she reached out and touched his bangs. "Your hair looks really pretty with the blue," she told him, completely serious. 

Ed touched the braided cord at his shoulder. "My hair matches this," he pointed out. "I guess even the military knows blue and gold look good together, huh?" 

She nodded and announced, "I like the blue," before reaching out to touch the single medal and the row of pins designating his honours for his 'years of exemplary service'. "Uncle Roy has one like this," she told him of the medal. 

Ed very carefully didn't grimace. "Yeah, I know. You remember all that upheaval not quite a year ago? On the same day as the eclipse?" 

"Uh-huh." 

"Your Uncle Roy and I got them for helping out with that." Ed had also received about half his honours for his part in the Promised Day, and he suspected Mustang had his own additional row of colours from those events. 

Elicia gave him a very serious nod, then informed him, "You look better than Uncle Roy." 

Gracia, who had returned with the camera while they'd been talking, burst out laughing, and Ed nearly joined her, because fuck alone knew how Mustang would react to hearing _that_. "You may have to tell your Uncle Roy that," he told Elicia, who clearly didn't understand why he and her mother found it so funny that she thought the uniform suited Ed better than Mustang. 

Gracia shook her head. "But only if I've got the camera," she insisted, and Ed did laugh that time, because it would never not be the best thing ever that he had such a willing partner in his quest to annoy the ever-loving fuck out of his bastard of a CO. "Speaking of, let's take a picture of your big brother." 

"Me too!" Elicia insisted, latching on to Ed's arm before he could stand. 

"Of course," he promised. "I can't have my picture taken without my favourite little sister." 

Elicia beamed and let Ed put his coffee aside before picking her up and posing for Gracia. 

She took a handful of pictures – Ed had expected no less – and passed one over to Ed once he'd set Elicia down so she could watch them develop. "For your room," she offered. 

Ed had started developing a collection of pictures – what with Gracia' determination to follow in her late husband's footsteps and get pictures of every minute of Elicia's childhood – a number of which he intended to find ways to display. "Thanks, Gracia," he said as he knelt to slip it into the journal at the top of his suitcase. Then he turned to Elicia. "Wanna help me take my rank and stuff off?" 

Elicia blinked at him. "Why?" 

"Because I don't wanna stand out on the train," Ed admitted, before blowing his distinctly-coloured bangs out of his eyes. "Well, any more than I already do." Ah, the dangers of belonging to a race that had been all but wiped out centuries ago. 

"Okay!" Elicia chirped before hurrying forward to help Ed remove his shoulder pieces and stars, then the line of honours and his medal. 

Everything was slipped carefully away into his left pocket, clinking brightly with coins and diamonds. On the other side, he unclipped the chain of his pocket watch, letting it slither into his pocket with the watch and lighter. "Do I look sufficiently enlisted?" he asked jokingly, before grabbing his coffee and drinking the last of it. 

Gracia laughed. "You certainly have the bearing of an incoming cadet," she offered. 

Ed grimaced. "Yeah, there is that. I have no idea what Grumman was thinking when he decided I needed to go through officer training." 

Gracia shook her head and held out her hand for the mug. "Say goodbye to Ed, sweetie," she suggested as Ed handed over the mug. 

Elicia held up her arms, bottom lip quivering, and Ed wasted no time in picking her up and hugging her tight. "I'll be back before you know it," he promised as she clung to him. "And Al's not leaving for a couple more days, okay?" 

"Kay," she agreed, very obviously trying not to cry. 

Ed pressed a kiss to her cheek, then set her down so he could hug Gracia, who kissed his cheek, then pick up his suitcase. "Be good for your mum," he told Elicia, who nodded and wiped at her eyes. Ed sighed and leant over to kiss the top of her head, then hurried to make his escape before his heart broke. 

Fuck. He wasn't strong enough for goodbyes with Elicia; her birthday couldn't come soon enough.

.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally getting to the training. Sorry about the rush of OCs this chapter. Most of them you'll never see again, while others will show up sporadically over the rest of the series, but I did have to fill in some names.
> 
> Just a reminder that most of this training is pulled from information found on Wikipedia and the U.S. Army OCS site. If you see something completely bass-ackward, erm, sorry? This is an alternate world, so shit goes down a bit different, yeah? (Also, Ed. He is 100% my defence for anything that doesn't seem military. XP)
> 
> I wrote the appearance of the academy off the top of my head, then was rewatching OVA 4 a few chapters later for something else and realised I could have based everything on that and just...so much face-palming, you have no idea. So, the academy in this fic doesn't match that canon, just a head's up.

Honestly, disguising himself as an incoming cadet had been as much a way to keep people from recognising him as the Fullmetal Alchemist, as it had been a way to avoid having to sit with the stuffy warrant officers that he'd be sharing most of his time with once they got to the fort. Given his age, people would just naturally assume he was a normal cadet, rather than a veteran there for the command training he'd never expected he'd agree to, which made his disguise that much more effective. 

For much the same reason, he'd insisted no one see him off, which was why he'd had to go to the Hugheses', rather than having them meet him at the station, and why Al had only crawled out of bed long enough to hug him goodbye, then been allowed to go back to sleep. (The traitor. Well, Ed could forgive him, he supposed; he was heading out to the desert soon, and that was a strain on the system even when you _didn't_ have metal limbs.) 

He got to the station at about seven thirty and slipped into the gathering crowd, avoiding anyone he spotted with a rank piece on their shoulders. At seven forty-five, a colonel with a bad-tempered expression and a kind of impressive bellow ordered them into lines and they filed into the train in an orderly fashion. 

Ed ended up sitting across from a guy who looked to be about his age – okay, most of these people looked his age, that was kind of the _point_ of sitting with the incoming cadets – and had what appeared to be a permanently bouncy knee, judging by how it was going. Across the aisle from Ed was a woman with long black hair and a scar tracing the line of her jaw, which was clenched tight, making it stand out. Across from her was a young man who looked like he'd be obnoxiously tall if he was standing and had eyes that were the same shade of blue as the Armstrongs, which were super obvious against his heavy tan. 

When the train started to move, Bouncy-Knee jumped and grabbed at the edge of his seat, looking more than a little like he was about to jump out of his skin. 

"Whoa, whoa," Ed called, holding out a hand to him. "Deep breaths." 

"I. Don't. Like. Trains," Bouncy-Knee gritted out, his knuckles going white against the seat. 

Yeah, Ed could sort of see that. "And you joined the military?" he couldn't stop himself from asking. "Why not just pick up a job at a shop or something, never have to get on a train?" 

Bouncy-Knee swallowed and closed his eyes. "Gotta send money home," he managed to get out. "Gotta feed my sisters and brother." 

Ed had been there, in his way, though Granny had supported them after Mum died, and Al hadn't needed much in the way of monetary care while in the armour. Still, he knew filial duty, could relate, and he leant forward. "Tell me about your siblings," he suggested, because if Bouncy-Knee cared enough about his siblings to face something he clearly hated, he'd probably love talking about them. 

He wasn't sure Bouncy-Knee heard him, at first, but he eventually started talking, telling Ed about his sisters – Iris and Amy – and his brother – Tim – and about his mum, who was struggling to support them all on what little money she could earn around their small town, and his dad, who had got caught up in one of the firefights between Amestris and Aerugo on his way home from work three years ago, and the _last_ thing Bouncy-Knee had wanted to do was join the military, but a recruiter had come through their village last summer and had said something about how well the military paid and Bouncy-Knee had asked some of the soldiers stationed in his village and they'd agreed, so he'd joined up soon as he could. 

He calmed down while he'd talked, and while his knee had never quite stopped jiggling, he wasn't clutching the seat any more by the time he realised how much he'd been talking and had flushed. "Sorry," he whispered, before holding out a hand. "Nick Halberstadt." 

Uh, shit, last name. What could Ed possibly use? "Ed Curtis," he replied, accepting Nick's hand and hoping Teacher never found out. (Or, if she did, that she didn't mind.) "And don't worry about it, really." He offered a grin. "I'd never have shut up if someone gave me the chance to talk about my brother." 

"Let's not, then," the woman across the aisle from Ed said, a faint curve to her mouth suggesting she didn't mean that in a nasty way. To Nick, she said, "Your sister and I have the same name; Aimee Knoller." 

Nick let out a shaky laugh. "Amy hates it so much, that so many people have the same name as her." 

Aimee snorted. "Must be a southern problem, that; I'm from North City and I'm the only one I know." And then she turned to the guy across from her. "How about you, blue-eyes?" 

The man grimaced. "Frank Lübeck. I hail from the east." 

"Hey, me too," Ed offered, flashing him a grin. "Resembool." 

"Posterim," Frank replied. 

Ed winced; that was right next to Liore. "Sorry about that." 

Frank snorted, an amused light in his eyes. "Likewise. You're out near Ishval, aren't you?" 

"Closest train stop," Ed admitted. 

Given Amestris' war-torn history, Aimee was the only one of them without stories about living near a war zone, but even she whispered about the threat of Drachma and how freaking cool was Major General Armstrong, anyway. (Ed very carefully didn't mention that he'd met her, though he did agree that she was terrifying and amazing.) 

Others in the seats around them joined in: Lois Hansa was from East City and had plenty of second-hand stories about the wars in Ishval and Liore from returning soldiers; Omar Hotspur was from near Wellesley, in the southern part of the west area, and he had plenty of old stories of the civil war that had broken out there over a century ago; Beck Roland was from Lali, the other side of Ishval, and while they hadn't suffered quite the damage to the land as Resembool, they'd been dragged into the madness just the same; and Janice Lohner, from up in the north-western part of the north area, near one of the passes through the mountains into Drachma, who had stories about minor skirmishes that had broken out and friends who died in the crossfire. 

The war stories, as terrible as they were, did act to form a sort of shared experience that pushed right past their lack of familiarity and made them, if not friends, comrades. Which, well, Ed expected that was sort of the point of the academy, and it almost made him wish he'd joined up the normal way, rather than sidling in as an alchemist. ( _Almost_ ; he'd never have got Al's body back if he'd waited to join the military the normal way. Then again, a lot of things would have been different if he'd joined the military the normal way, like the Dwarf in the Flask destroying everything in a fit of rage after Hohenheim's array freed all the Amestrisan souls, so.) 

They had an early lunch on the train – officers brought around food packs, which were kind of gross, but free, and Ed had totally been willing to share the bread loaf he'd picked up on his way to the station, familiar with the joys of military food – and pulled in to Gamitz just before eleven thirty. 

Ed felt a little bad, but he used the confusion of everyone gathering their things and filing off to sneak into the toilet and put his various pins and such back on. When he finally made it outside, the bellowing colonel from the station in Central was directing everyone to vehicles, and Ed quickly set off for the command set. 

Much to his surprise, he found one of the people he'd been speaking to on the train, Lois Hansa, standing by that vehicle with five other men, all wearing the plain three stripes of warrant officers. Lois, when she saw him, straightened and breathed, "Holy _shit_. Sir." 

Ed sighed. "Please don't," he complained. 

"What's a _major_ doing at command training?" one of the men said, his expression very clearly unimpressed. "Shouldn't you have done this already? Sir." 

Ed tiredly pulled out his pocket watch. 

There was a moment, then about half of them realised, "You're the Fullmetal Alchemist." 

"Hi, joy to meet you, so on and so forth," Ed replied, shoving his watch back in his pocket. To the man who'd commented on his rank, he said, " _No_ , I haven't attended any training, and I wouldn't be here now, except the Führer is a _dick_."

"Is that so, Major Elric?" a cold voice said from behind him, and Ed turned to find the bellowing colonel glaring down at him. And, oh, Ed could already tell this man and he were going to have issues. "Perhaps you'd like to walk to the fort?" 

Ed took a moment to consider that threat, how much it would piss this man off if he just _did_ , and then spot the track away from the station, which one of the regular cadet vehicles was already starting down. "Sure," he said and, after checking that his suitcase was securely closed, started off down the track. Because, honestly? He wasn't much interested in getting stuck in a vehicle with a bunch of stuffy military types when he could be enjoying the fresh air and stretching his legs a bit. 

Behind him, someone let out a quickly-aborted laugh, and Ed grinned to himself; okay, maybe they weren't _all_ stuffy. 

The roadway to the fort was mostly dirt, and curved a few times, so Ed's easy travel pace got him there at about the same time as the last vehicle, and he fell in next to Lois as the bellowing colonel – Parnall, apparently – introduced himself and his aides, most of whom would be in charge of the regular cadets, then started directing groups towards the barracks. 

One of the aides, a Captain Siemans, came over to the command group. "I'll be in charge of you seven." His eyes narrowed on Ed. "I expect obedience, no matter your rank. Will we have a problem, Major?" 

Ed frowned. "No." 

"No, _sir_ ," Siemans stressed. 

Ed resisted the urge to start something and ground out, "No, sir." 

"Good." Siemans turned away from them. "Follow me." 

They were led into the building next to the barracks, up one floor to a hallway lined with – Ed did a quick count – ten doors, spaced evenly. Siemans quickly set about assigning them their rooms, then told them they had until he returned at seventeen hundred to settle in. 

Ed pushed into his room with a sigh, already hating himself for going through with this. Fucking Grumman. Fucking _Mustang_.

The exercise clothing and class uniform were set on his military-issue bed, as well as a couple of papers that laid out the daily schedule, who to talk to if he required any toiletries, and so forth. Welcoming messages, mostly. Ed used alchemy to put the schedule up on the wall next to the door, then used the rest of the papers to fashion photo frames for the pictures of himself, Al, Elicia, and Gracia that he'd chosen to put out, which he lined up on the desk or – one of Elicia and Al – set on the table next to the bed. (He also had a photo of the four chimeras with himself and Al, which he'd probably put up eventually.) 

He tackled his clothing next, putting everything away in the small wardrobe with drawers. Since he didn't have enough clothing to fill both drawers, he dumped his toiletries in the bottom one, called it done, and walked back to the desk to put out his writing implements. 

Someone knocked on the doorframe of his door, which he hadn't bothered to close, and he looked up to find Lois standing there. "You realise," she said, her mouth curved with a smile, "that you're completely insane." 

Ed shrugged and closed his empty suitcase. "Because I'm an insubordinate shit, or because I came here at all?" he asked as he set the suitcase down next to the desk. 

Lois laughed. "I was going to say because you walked here, but the insubordination is pretty insane, too." 

Ed rolled his eyes. "You military types care way too much about making a polite face. Old man Grumman knows what I think of him, and he doesn't care." 

"You're a national hero, Major," a deep voice said out in the hall, and Lois turned to look over her shoulder just before a dark-skinned man with a serious expression came into view around the doorway. "Führer Grumman is going to let you slide on a lot of things." 

Ed snorted and shook his head. "Fuck that. He didn't care when he was commander of East City and I was a constant source of shit blowing up, and he doesn't care now. Though," he allowed, grimacing, "pretty sure my fucking promotion is because of the hero bullshit." 

The man gave a slow blink. "You have a foul mouth," he stated. 

"It's part of my charm." 

The man's eyes gleamed slightly, though his expression didn't change, and he held his hand up in a salute. "Warrant Officer Charlie Tugan." 

Ed held out his hand for a handshake, one eyebrow raised. "Ed Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist." 

Charlie's eyes seemed to dance as he obediently took Ed's hand and shook. "Pleasure." 

"Likewise." 

As everyone finished setting up their rooms, they all gathered together in the hall to sort of introduce themselves around. The man who'd commented on his rank at the very start – who, yes, was absolutely stuffy – was Lawrence Wackett, from South City. The man who Ed suspected had laughed when he'd chosen to walk – he'd winked as he introduced himself – was Oscar Pascale, from West City. Keith Piasecki – "Yes, I'm half-Cretan; I'd rather you use my first name than mangle my last" – was from out by the Cretan border. The last man, Taylor Bartel, hailed from the central area, and had burn scars on the left side of his face and down his neck under his collar. 

"From the mess in Central," he offered when he caught Ed looking, raising his left hand to show more scars. 

Ed felt his jaw tighten; burn scars immediately brought Mustang to mind, though he'd heard from multiple sources that he'd aimed to leave no more than first degree burns, which would have healed away to nothing, if properly treated. Mustang was good, but Ed knew quite well how hard it was to judge everything in a fight, especially when you were trying to judge just how much damage you _couldn't_ do. (A well-known failure of Ed's.) 

Taylor offered a lopsided smile. "Not what you're thinking," he offered. "I was on one of the machine guns and it jammed. Exploded before I even realised there was a problem." 

Ed probably shouldn't have been as relieved about that as he was. 

Taylor sighed. "Got carted off to the hospital right before Bradley showed back up, man. Did you see him at all?" 

"His corpse," Ed bit out, and Taylor wasn't the only one to shoot him a sharp look at his tone. 

"Don't tell me Bradley was cool with you mouthing off about him, too," Lois said. "I mean, I heard he knew how to have fun, but–"

"Bradley," Ed got out, and he couldn't modulate his voice to save his life, "had a habit of smiling while he used the people you cared about against you." 

They all stared at him in silence, wearing stunned expressions. 

Ed forced himself to take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "As much as I want to punch old man Grumman in the face, I'd still rather a hundred of him to one of Bradley." 

"Well," Oscar said at last, "I guess you're not a Bradley-supporter, then." 

Ed flashed him a smile that was all teeth. "Not even a fucking little." 

"What did you mean?" Taylor asked. When Ed frowned at him, he clarified, "When you said Bradley held people against you." 

Ed glanced down, trying to figure out how best to explain things without getting into all the shit about the homunculi, since their existence hadn't been released to the public or most of the military, to protect Selim. "There was a moment when everyone dropped," he offered, "for no reason. Sort of like you fell asleep wherever you were, except when you were asleep–"

"That wasn't sleep," Oscar whispered, and there were remembered horrors in each of their eyes. Ed couldn't really relate – he'd escaped that fate – but he'd heard enough about it from Winry to know that it hadn't been pleasant. 

"It was like falling forever in a void of agony," Keith added. 

"That," Ed agreed quietly. "Bradley was supporting the man who set that up. Mustang and my brother and I found out about it way before, and to keep us all quiet, Bradley threatened to kill Al and my best friend, and Mustang's team if any of us talked." 

"Oh my God," Oscar breathed, while Lois cursed under her breath and most of the others closed their eyes. 

"You're _lying_ ," Lawrence declared, stepping forward and fairly towering over Ed, though he wasn't even a head taller. "Führer Bradley would _never_ –"

Ed punched him in the gut hard enough to make him clutch at it, his expression turning pained, but not so hard as to chance rupturing anything. "Anyone fucking defends Bradley to me, I don't care about rank or who's watching, I will beat you bloody, so shut up. Right now," he ordered. 

Lawrence glared at him, but backed down. 

Things were a little awkward after that, and they all sort of retired back into their rooms until Siemans returned to collect them for dinner. Dinner was equally strained, the command candidates held apart from the normal cadets and their table in a position that they could easily be stared at. 

Before they were dismissed for the evening, Colonel Parnall announced that the weekend would be filled with fitness tests, so they'd best get as much sleep as possible; they were going to need it. 

Given that warning, when he got back to his room, Ed closed his door and set about adding the carbon fibre to his new clothing, then got ready for bed. He left his lighter, pocket watch, and a diamond in front of the picture of Elicia and Al on his bedside table, climbed into bed, and whispered a goodnight to the picture before turning over to get what was very likely to be the last good sleep for the next three months. 

-0-

They were called to order before six the next morning, and Ed wasn't the only one stumbling through his morning ablutions. Breakfast followed, then they were all marched out to the track and firing range behind the fort. There, they were broken into three groups according to their last name, command candidates and cadets together, and told to warm up. 

Ed ended up in the same group as Taylor and Lois, as well as Nick and Omar, from the train. As he started through his familiar limbering exercises, Nick sidled up to him and muttered, "Ed Curtis." 

Ed shrugged, unapologetic. "You'd never have calmed down if you knew I was the Fullmetal Alchemist," he pointed out. 

"Might have," Nick muttered. 

"Wouldn't," Omar called from where he was doing a handstand. "Don't even lie, Nicky." 

Nick let out a sigh that made it clear he'd already resigned himself to the nickname, and Ed ducked his head to hide a grin. 

Once Parnall decided they'd all stretched enough, the groups were sent out to different sections to be tested. Ed's group got the track first, and were told they had to run it under the time limit. 

Ed resisted the urge to ask what the record was and took the run at an easy pace, which still had him finishing before the rest of his group. 

"I hate you," Lois gasped once she'd finished. "Did you even break a sweat?" 

"Little one," Ed offered, trying not to grin; running was a lot easier with only one automail limb weighing him down, when he was used to compensating for two. (Most physical exercises were easier with only one automail limb, if he was being honest.) Anyway, this was a walk in the park, compared to Teacher's training. Fewer bruises, for one. 

A few members of his group – all regular cadets – were warned that they had come in under the necessary time and that they had a week to get in better shape and try making that time again next weekend, or they would be sent home. 

They all got the chance to cool down, even the stragglers, before Parnall ordered the groups to switch. Which put Ed's group at the firing range. 

"Who here isn't familiar with firearms?" their trainer, a captain that Ed was fairly certain was called Boulton, asked. 

Ed and two of the cadets raised their hands, and Omar whispered, " _Seriously_?"

Boulton nodded. "You three, with me. Everyone else, get a rifle and three rounds. Shoot all of them, then clear the chamber and wait for me to mark you." As everyone else moved to get guns, Ed and the cadets stepped up to Boulton, who was consulting a clipboard. "Names," he requested. 

"Gabardini," the male cadet reported. 

The female cadet whispered something that might have been her last name. When Boulton shot her a hard look, she cleared her throat and managed, louder, "Coanda." 

"Elric." 

Boulton made a quick mark on his clipboard, then set it aside. "Right. All of you get a rifle and I'll run you through the basics." 

Gabardini and Coanda hurried for the rifles, but Ed folded his arms over his chest and said, "No." 

Boulton turned hard eyes on Ed. "Excuse me?" 

Ed stared him down, unflinching, because he had fucking _lines_ and using guns were one of them. He'd made an exception once, because Hawkeye had asked, but he had no intention in doing so again, especially since that had done him no good, at the time. "I'm not getting a gun," he said, forcing his voice to remain even. 

Before Boulton could find a response to that, they were interrupted by Parnall, who rumbled, "Is there a problem over here, Captain?" as he stopped next to them. 

Boulton saluted. "Sir! Elric is refusing to get a gun." 

Parnall turned to him, and there was something nasty in his eyes that immediately set Ed's hackles up. "Did you not understand the order, Elric?" he asked, his tone just shy of insulting. 

Ed was really fucking glad his arms were folded over his chest, because it was easier to stop himself from punching the bastard in the face that way. "I understood perfectly," he said, and his voice came out far sharper than he'd intended. He tried to modulate it a bit as he added, "I'm not learning to shoot a gun." 

Parnall took a step forward, and what the actual _fuck_ was up with these arseholes and using their height to tower over Ed, anyway? "You will go and pick up a gun, Elric," he said, anger all-too-obvious in his voice. 

"No." 

"Get him a gun, Captain," Parnall told Boulton, and Ed tightened his biceps over his fists in an effort to keep from punching the man as Boulton ran to do as ordered. 

"I am not learning to shoot a gun," Ed repeated. "I'm not going to fucking _touch_ a gun." 

Parnall accepted the gun that Boulton brought back and turned icy eyes on Ed. "You will take this gun, Elric, and you will learn how to use it, or I will shoot you myself." 

"Try it," Ed suggested, and someone stifled a gasp behind him. 

For a minute, Parnall looked like he was honestly considering doing just that, and Ed resettled his stance, freeing his hands so he could clap and drop to raise a barrier; punching the bastard would just see him court-martialled, but defending himself was totally fair. 

But then Parnall smiled. "You honestly believe, Elric, that because you can do flashy things with some magic circles–"

" _What_ circles?" Ed couldn't help but interrupt, before he clapped his hands together and dropped to transmute his familiar battle staff from the ground. "Yeah," he said over the whisper of voices behind him, while Parnall glared at him, "I'm an alchemist. That means I've got a way better weapon than any fucking gun." And then, because he was fairly certain it would piss Parnall off, he straightened, saluted, and barked, "Sir!" 

Parnall's hands visibly tightened around the gun he was still holding before he snarled, "My office, Elric," and turned to lead the way. 

Ed fell in behind him, an absent clap turning the staff into a fair match for his new knife. He slipped it into the waistband at the back of his trousers, uncertain enough about what Parnall had planned to want a weapon easy to hand. He had his carbon alchemy, sure, but he'd opted to go without gloves for the physical testing, since he doubted they'd be seen favourably – he'd honestly intended to avoid a fight today – which meant it wouldn't be at its most effective. 

(Yeah, he was probably being paranoid – no way Parnall would actually try hurting him, not when so many people observed that argument, right? – but his paranoia had kept him alive on more than one occasion, so fuck it.) 

Parnall led the way to an inner office in the upper floor of the main building. "Sit," he ordered, pointing at a chair in front of what was clearly his desk, then picking up the phone. 

Ed settled in stiffly, and didn't relax when he realised Parnall was ringing Grumman. Which, well, actually made sense; Ed couldn't be kicked out of the training, on Grumman's order, and with his direct CO out of contact, that left it to the Führer to handle Ed's disobedience. And he had no fucking clue what Grumman would do. 

"Führer Grumman, sir, this is Colonel Parnall," he said at last, clearly having reached the Führer. "Major Elric is proving to be a problem." He was quiet for a moment, waiting through Grumman's response, then answered, "He is absolutely refusing to so much as touch a gun, sir." Parnall was quiet for another moment before he held the handset out to Ed. 

Ed took it with a frown. "Sir," he said, announcing he had the phone. 

_"Major,"_ Grumman greeted, and Ed couldn't tell if he was amused or angry, and that actually freaked him out a little bit. _"Please explain to me why you won't touch a gun."_

Ed glanced at the rifle that Parnall had brought up with him, grabbing desperately for the best explanation he had. "I'm trained in hand-to-hand, and what little distance fighting I have to do, I manage fine with alchemy. In the time it would take me to pull out a gun and aim it, I could already have trapped my opponent, or covered the space between us and punched them." He swallowed, then added, probably a little too honestly, "I don't like guns, Grumman. It's too easy to kill with them." 

Grumman let out a noise that could have been understanding. _"Your team uses guns, do they not?"_ he asked. 

Ed furrowed his brow, confused about where he was going with this. "They've both got one, yeah." More than one, actually, based on the invoice Havoc had passed on to him, but Ed wasn't about to pass that on over the phone. Or in any manner, really, because Grumman didn't really need to know that Ed's team were being supplied with black market arms, even if he could probably guess that it was happening, given that Havoc had helped supply Mustang's team during the Promised Day. 

_"If one of their guns broke in the field, it would be your duty to either get a replacement or, given your alchemy, fix it yourself. Are you currently capable of the latter?"_

Ed blinked. Fix a gun? Well, not so it actually worked, not if he didn't know _how_ it work– Ah. He closed his eyes and sighed. "I'm still not shooting them," he insisted. 

Grumman chuckled. _"You've made your case,"_ he allowed. _"While you would normally be expected to practise shooting, you will instead be taking apart different types of guns and putting them back together again, until you can transmute replacements that work. Hand me back to Colonel Parnall."_

"Yes, sir," Ed said on a sigh, before holding the phone back out to the colonel. 

Parnall's expression was a study in poorly concealed fury as he listened to Grumman for an extended period. At last, he stiffly said, "I understand, sir. Thank you, sir," and then very gently set the handset back onto its cradle, before picking the rifle up and turning to Ed. "Let me make something perfectly clear, Elric," he snarled, no longer bothering to hide how pissed off he was, which Ed thought was kind of unprofessional (yeah, like he could really talk). "The Führer may have to make nice with you for the public, but no one here will be doing the same. I can't fail you, but I can and _will_ fail others in your place. Am I clear?" 

Ed felt very much like someone had just dumped ice water over him. So, it would be threats to turn him into the good little soldier; he should have figured. "Crystal, sir," he gritted out, because what the fuck else _could_ he do? 

Fuck, he hated the military. Mustang need to climb his way to the top and fix it, already. 

Parnall held the gun out towards him. "Get back to your squad." 

Ed took the gun and stalked from the office and back out to the field. His group had moved on from the shooting range to the second half of the physical tests, which appeared to be using field equipment to test flexibility and muscle strength. He returned the gun to the range, then made his way over to the equipment. 

"Good of you to finally join us, soldier," the captain there called from where he was marking something down on a clipboard. "Fall in line." 

The cadet at the end of the line, Coanda, shot him a vaguely terrified look as Ed stepped up behind her, and he forced himself to take a deep breath and calm the fuck down; he wasn't angry with any of his group members, and if he punched the person he _was_ angry with, they would be the ones punished. 

When it was finally his turn, the captain droned, "Name." 

"Elric." 

"Any disabilities?" 

Ed felt his jaw tighten and had to force out the words, "Automail leg." It wasn't a disability to him, not really, but he knew that's how other people saw it, and if he lied about something that was in his file, his group would get it. 

The captain blinked and looked up at him while a couple members of his group started whispering. "I see. Are there any exercises you're incapable of performing?" 

Ed already knew there weren't, but he still glanced over the equipment, just to make sure, then said, "No. May I?" 

The captain waved him on, so Ed went through the set. He really would have preferred punching something or running to manage his anger, but the burn of well-used muscles was better than nothing. 

Once Ed had finished, they were sent in for lunch, where they found that the tables had been rearranged by group or – as Parnall had called it in his office – squad. Once they'd all got their food and were seated, Parnall explained that they would be going in shifts that evening and the next day to run through an obstacle course with their squad, with Ed's squad – Squad A – going that afternoon. For everyone not running the course, there would be a tour of the facilities, and then free time. 

"So, essentially, we've got tomorrow free?" Omar said hopefully. 

"I wouldn't hold my breath," Taylor murmured. 

Lois snapped her fingers in Ed's general direction until he looked up at her. "The hell were you thinking, going off on Parnall like that?" 

Ed scowled. "I don't like guns." 

"News flash! You're in the military!" 

"Fine, I have no _use_ for guns," Ed said, turning back to his food. "Alchemy's faster, and more dependable." 

"More 'dependable'," Lois repeated. "The fuck, Elric." 

"My alchemy has never jammed on me," Ed pointed out, before tossing Taylor an apologetic look. (Which, if he was being honest, wasn't really true, but he didn't count intervention of the Dwarf in the Flask as a 'jamming', especially since that would never happen again.)

Taylor sighed and waved his burned hand at him. "And you don't need circles, yeah? Makes it faster." 

Ed snorted. "You want fast, you should see the Flame Alchemist. He snaps, things explode. _That's_ fast." He shook his head, remembering how the man had been useless when his gloves got wet, and chose not to mention that. "But, yeah, not having to fuss about with arrays makes it a lot easier. Don't need a smooth surface to draw on, for one, and I'm not limited to what type of alchemy I can use, like someone with a pre-drawn array is." 

"Could _you_ just snap and things explode?" Nick asked. 

Ed considered that as he chewed a mouthful. Could he use Mustang's alchemy? Sure. He knew the man's arrays, had seen and felt it in action enough times, and he already had the lighter to create a spark, but he also knew there was a level of finite control that he'd have to practise to achieve. "Probably," he settled on. 

"Let's _not_ find out right now," one of the women in the squad said. Ed was fairly certain her last name was Flanders, but he wasn't sure. And they should probably make a point to introduce themselves to each other at some point, since it seemed they'd be stuck together for a while. 

"So, how'd you get out of Parnall's office without needing to pack your bags?" Taylor asked. 

"And do you have to learn to shoot?" Lois added. 

Ed stared down at his food, debating how much to tell them. On one hand, he didn't really want to make it public knowledge that he was getting special treatment because of who he was, and he _really_ didn't want to tell them that any more fuck-ups on his part would hurt them; on the other hand, they knew who he was and the fact that he didn't have to learn to shoot was a clear show of his special treatment, and he'd already been down the path of not telling someone they were being used against him, and that had ended in having to entrust Winry's safety to Scar. 

So, with a sigh, he explained, "Führer's not letting Parnall kick me out, for reasons you can probably guess." 

" _Lucky_ ," someone muttered. 

Ed smiled grimly. "He can't kick me to the kerb, but he can kick out _others_ in my stead." 

Lois got it first, breathing curses under her breath. 

"You're saying," one of the other men hissed, "that if you don't get your act together, _we're_ going to get kicked out?" 

Ed met his glare. "Yes." 

"Fuck you, you little shit," the man snarled, rising in his seat. 

"Hey!" Lois snapped, while the guy's neighbour pushed on his shoulder and said, "Easy, man." 

"Right, so," Taylor said, "one of us sees you about to do something we'll all regret, we step in. Sound good?" He looked around the table as everyone nodded, even the guy who'd just about jumped out of his seat. Taylor looked back at Ed. "Any other hang-ups we need to be aware of?" 

"Other than my general inability to follow orders?" Ed returned drily, and Taylor winced. 

"And your hatred of all things Bradley," Lois supplied, and Ed scowled. "So, seriously, what happened with the gun? You carried it back out, I saw." 

Ed shook his head. "Parnall called old man Grumman–" someone whistled "–and he decided I don't have to shoot them, but I have to be able to take them apart and put them back together again. Gotta be able to fix it if one of my team breaks his while we're out in the field." 

"Military training for alchemists," Flanders muttered. "Go figure." 

Ed shrugged. "It made sense." 

Topics moved, after that, to finding ways to improve those members of their squad who had failed parts of the testing. Taylor suggested they use part of their free time the next day to work on that, which the cadets all groaned about, but agreed to. Ed offered to help with the endurance, Lois said she'd help with the limberness, and Taylor chimed in about upper body strength. Lois also said she was happy to help anyone who wanted to improve their aim, while kicking Ed under the table. (He resisted the urge to start a food fight. Barely.) 

After lunch was the obstacle course, which they had to run each on their own, first, then as a group, helping each other past obstacles that had given them trouble. They had to run it through twice each way, and it was already dark when they all trooped back inside, tired and sore and all of them covered in mud from the artificially created mire. The cadets all went straight to the barracks, while the three command candidates made for the showers on their hall. 

"Looks like fun!" Oscar called after them from where he was sitting on his bed, playing with a cup-and-ball set. 

"Let's see if he's still saying that tomorrow," Lois muttered, and Ed and Taylor both let out noises of agreement. 

Ed took the longest in the shower, due entirely to how much of a sodding _pain_ it was to get mud out of his automail. By the time he was done maintaining it – he was not dealing with Winry in a snit because he messed up his automail on top of not being able to ring her – everyone else was ready to go to dinner. 

"So, did the water get cold ever?" Lois asked on their way down. 

Ed shook his head. "Didn't seem to, no. Why?" 

"The showers in the barracks have about five minutes of hot water; if ours don't have a limit, I'm not going to rush my showers any more." 

Ed laughed at that and shook his head, then offered, "If it does go cold on you and I'm in the next stall, shout and I'll fix it." 

"You can do that?" Oscar asked, looking worryingly gleeful. 

Ed shrugged, because it was a fairly easy fix, one he'd occasionally had to use with the outdoor shower at Granny's and, on the rare occasion they stayed there, in the East City dorms. "Yeah." 

"I'm always going to take showers with you from now on," Oscar decided. 

Ed snorted. "In your own stall, please; I don't do free shows." 

Oscar flushed, while most of the others laughed. Lois draped an arm around Ed's shoulders, wearing a smirk, and asked, "How much for a show, then?" 

"I'll have to ask my manager," Ed retorted, and she laughed as she let him go. 

That night, after dinner, when Ed was preparing to turn in for the night, he was stopped by a knock on his door, and he quickly pulled back on the shirt he'd just taken off. When he opened it, he found Lois, expression uncertain and holding what looked like a picture frame against her chest. He blinked at her, then stepped back to let her in. 

Lois took a deep breath and, not moving out of the doorway, said, "I just needed to make sure you knew I was only joking, earlier, about the show. Which isn't to say you're not attractive, because you are, but–"

"Lois," Ed interrupted, bemused. "Thank you? I promise I didn't take you seriously." 

She let out a gusty breath. "Oh." Then she flushed slightly. "It's just, well, you have this really easy-to-joke-with sort of personality, and the last time I did that with a guy, he took me seriously." 

Ed shrugged. "One of my team likes to jokingly come on to me, and I got used to ignoring him. And, well–" he grimaced faintly "–nothing against you, but you're not really my type." Because he had slept with women, sure – Greed had seen to that – and he didn't mind them, but he'd discovered a definite preference for men. Which was one of those things that he really didn't want to explain to Al, but was probably the only way to put an end to the jokes about him and Winry getting together. (Darius, on the other hand, was well aware, and made the comments just to mess with him.) 

Lois let out a quiet laugh and turned around the picture she was holding as she said, "Likewise." 

The picture was of Lois in uniform, her red hair much longer than it currently was and lit from behind, so it looked like she was on fire, and another woman with dark skin, who was wearing a nurse's uniform. They had their arms wrapped around each other and looked ridiculously happy. 

Ed blinked. "I know her," he realised of the nurse. "She works at the East City hospital, doesn't she?" 

Lois nodded, smile turning a bit sad as she looked back down at the photo. "Yeah. Brittany. She usually sits the front desk in the military wing." 

"She's nice," Ed remembered. "Let me in to see Fuery that time he nearly fried himself fixing a telephone pole, even though she wasn't supposed to." 

Lois cast him an amused glance. "That sounds like something she'd do," she agreed, before something like mischief gleamed in her eyes. "I showed you mine, now you have to show me yours." 

Ed blinked a few times before he realised what she meant, and he snorted and waved her in as he stepped over to his bedside table. "No one quite so worthy of wet dreams," he offered and she choked on a laugh. He flashed her a grin and held out the picture for her to see. "My brother, Al, and Elicia Hughes, who's sort of like a little sister to us." 

"She looks precious," Lois said, smiling at him. 

"She is." Ed stared down at their smiles and sighed. "She was absolutely miserable when we told her we both had to leave. Al's heading to Xing," he explained to her curious look, "and I'm here, of course." 

"At least it's only three months?" 

"That's an eternity to a four-year-old." 

Lois winced. "I guess it is. Well, we'll work towards phone privileges, then you can ring her and I can ring Brittany and we'll both be happier." 

Ed let out a short laugh as he turned and put the photo back. "Sounds like a plan," he allowed, and she laughed herself. "Good night, Lois." 

"Night, Ed," she returned, and Ed saw her out before finally heading for bed. 

Well, if nothing else, at least it seemed like he'd made a friend. 

-0-

Finding the indoor gym during their tour the next morning went a long way towards easing Ed's irritation with Parnall's blackmail. Spending an hour breaking and repairing the punching bag had earned him some slightly terrified looks from the cadets who'd been in there, and Charlie Tugan, who'd been working with the weights, had drily suggested, "You might look into anger management classes," as Ed passed him on his way out. 

"But this works so _well_ ," he'd insisted, and Charlie's eyes had glinted over his perpetual serious expression. 

Monday, finally, set the standard for the next three months: they got up at way-too-fucking-early-in-the-morning, and Captain Siemans came through their hall to do a quick inspection of their living spaces (it took two days for Ed to figure out how he needed to make his bed, and even then, he'd had to ask for help). Following that, they had an hour to do whatever personal training they wanted, and Ed's squad spent the first week focussing on getting the lagging members up to scruff, before each settling in to do their own things (like Ed beating the living fuck out of the punching bag a couple times). A short clean-up and change before breakfast, and then it was off to classes or whatever fresh hell they had for the squads outside, with a brief break for lunch in the middle. Dinner was after, then free time, part of which Ed always spent in the gym, before retiring to his room to do any classwork. 

His squad being aware that he had a problem with authority was surprisingly helpful during the forced marches, because Ed would always stick back with whoever was lagging and, when one of their trainers – Parnall, usually, and Ed was nearly certain the bastard was trying to push him into fucking up one of the others' careers – came back to try and yell them into hurrying up, Ed's first reaction was _always_ to shout back, so his squad mates quickly learnt to smack him as soon as he opened his mouth and drown out any comment he didn't manage to bite back with a very loud, "Yes, sir!" 

Most of the outdoor activities that didn't involve the obstacle course, or either running or marching them to death, Ed found to be boring. He knew how to read maps and navigate by them, he knew how to handle most difficult terrain, and he knew how to survive outdoors for days while living on limited rations. Fuck, he even knew how to hunt without military supplies, and move through enemy territory without being noticed. (Mostly. Greed had never been good about staying under the radar, but they'd managed to avoid the homunculi, military, and Mustang's spy network, so Ed assumed they'd done _something_ right.) 

Indoor classes with the command candidates proved both more interesting and tedious as fuck. The history of Amestris' military made him want to shove his pencil into his ears and ruin his hearing, and the ethics class was just military crap and nowhere near the level of his own moral code. Military intelligence, however, was an interesting look into the shadowy underbelly of the military that Ed had found himself thrust into, and the leadership and tactics courses had offered some intriguing ideas in regards to managing Darius and Heinkel while working on their current task. 

Which, speaking of his missing team... Chris' woman, Maggie, had caught his attention their first full Friday as she served him some meatloaf at dinner, making a dry comment on how it probably wasn't fit for lions, which had been one of the code phrases Ed and Chris had set up before he'd left. (The other, of course, had involved gorillas, to be used if she was serving a non-meat product.) She'd slipped him a parcel as he dropped off his tray, and he'd wasted no time in returning with it to his room and closing his door. 

The parcel had been the most recent report from Darius and Heinkel, as well as some reports passed on from other of Chris' contacts, some related newspaper articles, and a hand-written note from Grumman with the dressing-down he hadn't delivered over the phone, likely due to the sensitive information he'd used as key points. Other than the dressing-down, his weekly parcels tended to contain many of the same items, with an added package from Al the second week of the month, which included pictures of his trip – the camera was clearly getting a lot of use, and Ed was glad it was easy to find the necessary ingredients to transmute more photo stands – and commentary written in the code Al used for his alchemy notes. 

Ed's own comments or – when Heinkel asked for permission to join the large pro-Bradley cell they'd found, which Ed had granted, after weighing the dangers and the potential benefits – responses were handed back to Maggie on Saturday morning as he passed her on his way to fill his plate. If his squad or the other command candidates noticed any of the parcels, none of them said anything to him, and he made a point to keep all of his paperwork hidden away in a compartment he'd made in the floor next to his wardrobe, where it wouldn't look odd if someone caught him kneeling down, so long as he had the bottom drawer open. (Fucking military intelligence class and all this shadow bullshit was making him paranoid as fuck.) 

Between his squad's work to keep him in line, and Ed's own ease with most of the training, he had his phone privileges back by the middle of the third week. His first call – after double-checking the date in his head – had been to the Hugheses, and Elicia's delighted squeal had been totally worth Winry's irritation that he'd had to wait another day to ring her. (She'd been less cross with him when he admitted he'd called Elicia first, because she adored the girl as much as Ed and Al did.) 

Keith Piasecki's comment about his multiple girlfriends had earned him a – very light, stop whining, you baby – punch to the arm, and Lois had just about laughed herself silly for some reason that she wouldn't share (though Ed had a pretty good guess, since she was the only one who knew his preferences). 

On the seventeenth of February, over dinner, Ed warned, "I won't be here tomorrow." 

Heads came up around the table, and Taylor asked, "Why?" 

Rather than trying to explain his complicated relationship with the Hugheses, Ed said, "It's my little sister's birthday." 

Lois perked up. "Elicia?" she guessed. 

Ed nodded and told them all, "She's turning five. I've been informed that there will be snowman building in the courtyard, a tea party, and flower crowns for everyone, if her mum can find enough flowers." 

They all laughed at that, and Ed was made to promise pictures. 

After they'd parted from the cadets, Taylor asked, "So, how much pull do you have with the Führer, anyway? Because I have never once heard of anyone getting a day off for anything less than a funeral." 

"You're going to a funeral, Ed?" Oscar asked as he caught them up. 

Ed sighed. "No, a birthday." To Taylor, he offered, "Elicia's father was Brigadier General Hughes, who was killed while attempting to pass on critical information to Brigadier General Mustang almost two years ago. Pretty sure this is less about my 'pull' with Grumman and more about honouring a soldier and giving a little girl the chance to have as much of her family home for her birthday as possible." 

"Shit, yeah," Taylor replied, an apologetic expression owning his face. "You said she's your sister, though?" 

"Hughes and his wife took care of Al and me every time we came to Central, and we've known Elicia since she was a baby. She's the closest thing either of us have to a little sister, and since she calls us her big brothers..." He shrugged. "It's only her and her mum left, from what I understand, and Al's all I've got; seemed like a good match, right?" 

"Yeah," Taylor agreed, squeezing Ed's shoulder. "Seems like an awesome match." 

Ed offered him a tired smile, then they all parted to step into their personal rooms and go about their evening schedules. For Ed, that meant changing back into his exercise clothing and running down to murder the punching bag a few times before coming back up to take a shower, then get started on his class work. 

As much trouble as he had restraining himself from actually hitting one of the officers, he'd found settling into this disciplined life surprisingly easy. Which, yeah, pretty fucking terrifying, and he was going to have to demolish a building as soon as he got out, just to make himself feel better.

.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brought Roy back, you're welcome. XD
> 
> For the anon on FFN who joked that Wackett told Parnall about Ed's weak spot... He would actually have had the chance, and he didn't need to; Ed's well enough known that it really isn't hard to guess what can be used against him, and (you'll find out in this chapter) Parnall knows Roy.

Ed got up with the rest of his hall the morning of the eighteenth, yawning as he stepped out of his room so Siemans could inspect. Once the man was done, he dismissed them all to their personal physical training before calling, "Elric!"

Ed straightened and eyed him. "Sir?" 

"You're to dress for your day out and report directly to the front gate; your ride is due within ten minutes." 

"Yes, sir," Ed agreed, before returning to his room to dress. 

He'd actually spent the night before debating his options. His usual civilian wear should suffice for a party, but given Elicia's comments on how much she liked him in blue – and her half-hopeful comments about it the last time he'd spoken to her on the phone – he'd realised, a bit helplessly, that he was going to the party in his uniform. Which, vaguely obnoxious, but it would make Elicia happy, which was what mattered, and he'd be less obvious leaving and returning to the fort in his military blue. 

It didn't take him long to get dressed and put up his hair, then he hurried down to the front gate, waving his goodbye as his hall mates called after him. 

A military-issue car was waiting for him at the entrance, Parnall standing next to the driver's side door and clearly having some sort of pissing contest with whoever had come to pick Ed up, and Ed raised an eyebrow at that even as he called, "Colonel." 

Parnall turned to glare at him, and Ed felt his eyes widening as he caught sight of Mustang in the driver's seat, a suggestion of surprise in his own eyes as he looked at Ed. Of all the people Grumman could have sent to pick him up, Ed could admit that Mustang had never even figured onto the list. 

And then Parnall was between them again, the familiar gleam in his eyes that meant he was going to push all of Ed's buttons. "Elric–" he started. 

"Fullmetal!" Mustang barked, and Ed had to suppress a smirk when Parnall flinched. "Get over here before we miss the train!" 

Ed gave Parnall a brief salute and offered an insincere, "Sorry, sir," before ducking past him and calling, "Hold your horses, bastard!" 

Mustang snorted as Ed slid into the back seat. "It's almost reassuring to see you haven't changed," he admitted as he pulled away from the fort. 

"It's the uniform, I know," Ed said, and Mustang's eyes gleamed at him in the rear-view mirror; he was wearing civilian clothing, though Ed knew he was on leave, so it was only to be expected. "I would have gone civilian, but Elicia was insistent." 

Mustang shook his head. "Has you wrapped around her little finger, does she, Fullmetal?" 

"Don't even start with me, _Uncle Roy_ ," Ed tossed back and Mustang smirked at him in the mirror. "Gracia said you spoil her just as much as Al and I do." 

"Very likely," Mustang admitted before he gave a helpless little shrug. "She's distressingly like her father at his worst." 

Ed snickered at that, because he was pretty sure by 'worst' Mustang meant every time Hughes had ever started in on his favourite topic ever: Elicia herself. 

And it was nice, being able to laugh about Hughes without feeling like his guilt was going to choke him; seeing Elicia and Gracia smile so much had gone a long way to healing the ache that Hughes' murder had left behind. 

Mustang parked the car next to the other military vehicles in the small car park next to the train station and, as they got out, ordered, "Get yourself some food," while pointing towards a bakery across the road. 

"Did you want something?" Ed called back as he turned to do so, because while he was used to not eating for another hour, his stomach was already voicing its interest in the change of pace. 

"I've eaten," Mustang responded. 

So Ed, after looking over the bakery's selection and checking his (useless) mental checklist of all the things he'd seen Mustang eating instead of doing his work, got himself three fruit strudels of varying favours, then picked out a raisin strudel for Mustang before hurrying back to the station. "Shut up," he ordered as he handed over the strudel. 

Mustang snorted. "You're developing a habit, Fullmetal." 

"Seriously, shut up." 

Mustang smirked at him, but kept any further comments to himself as he ate the strudel and they boarded the train. Once they'd found seats, he asked, "How's your brother?" 

Ed snorted around his current bite and hurriedly swallowed before saying, "Really fucking sick of the desert, last I heard. Not as sick of it as Jerso is, of course, but he's done. Sent me some pretty cool pictures of Xerxes, though. How's Hawkeye and them?" 

"Also sick of the desert," Mustang admitted and Ed laughed. "The captain and Lieutenant Colonel Miles are managing things while I'm away. If everything stays on schedule, we should be done with the rebuilding by this time next year." 

"That'll be nice," Ed offered. "We gonna pull out then, or irritate them a little longer?" 

Mustang shot him a tiredly amused look. "The Führer is pushing to extend the train route out to Ishval. Their council is a bit back-and-forth on the idea, but a recent skirmish with Aerugo about fifty miles down the border is tilting the vote in favour of agreeing." 

Ed frowned. "Do they realise we're going to need to use alchemy to safely extend the tracks through the desert?" Because that had been in one of those books Mustang had him reading in hospital, and they all knew how the Ishvalans felt about alchemy. 

Mustang's jaw tightened slightly and he shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of, although that may be part of what's been holding them back; all of my contact with the council, so far, has been through Miles or that friend of ours." 

Scar, Ed knew, understood quite well why Mustang didn't actually use his name – or, well, the name they had for him – in public. He shrugged and shook his head. "I mean, it makes sense, that they want to go through an intermediary with us, even if it sucks. At least Miles is– No." He snorted. "He's not going to take our side over them, is he?" 

"I don't expect so," Mustang admitted, before letting out a near silent sigh and sitting back against his bench. "How much trouble are you having with Colonel Parnall?" 

Ed was helpless against the scowl that crossed his face, and Mustang raised a knowing eyebrow at him. "Fuck you," Ed snapped. "I can handle Parnall." 

"That's not what I asked." 

"I know what you fucking asked. I'm telling you–"

"Edward," Mustang interrupted, and Ed glared at him, but shut up. "I was in the academy with Parnall, and we didn't get on. Is he taking it out on you?" 

Ed huffed and crossed his arms over his chest as he slumped back against his bench. "How the fuck should I know? First time I met him, he overheard me calling Grumman a dick–"

"Of course you did," Mustang muttered, closing his eyes. 

"Which he _is_ ," Ed insisted. "And when Parnall suggested I walk to the fort from the train station, I figured 'why not' and did." 

Mustang just sort of shook his head, something that might have been a resigned smile tugging at his mouth. 

"And then we had a, uh, discussion–"

"Argument," Mustang assumed. 

"Okay, yeah, argument, about the fact that I wouldn't shoot a gun." Ed shrugged, feeling a little uncomfortable. "He called old man Grumman, I won, he's been on my case ever since." 

Mustang watched him for a moment, then asked, "What aren't you telling me?" 

Fucking Mustang. He sighed and closed his eyes. "He can't kick me out, so he's threatening to kick out a member of my squad if I act out." 

"I see." 

Ed opened his eyes and looked up to find Mustang staring out the window, the same tightness in his jaw that Ed had been suffering for the past month and a half. "I warned my squad," he admitted, and Mustang shot him a surprised look. "Figure they deserved to know, just like Winry did. They've been helping to keep me from mouthing off when Parnall goes after me." 

"Regretfully, it's not uncommon for the officers of the academy to focus on one or two cadets they think need the extra attention," Mustang offered, "and there's nothing that can be done about that. The hostage situation, however, is a different matter; if you want to report it, I'll support you." 

Ed clenched his jaw and turned to stare out the window; he hadn't needed to take the course on military history or sit through any rules and regulations lectures to know how slow the military was about getting internal matters like this handled. "And give him more reason to go after me while I wait for the bureaucratic bullshit to sort itself out? No, thanks. I've only got a bit over a month left; I can deal with fucking Parnall for that long." 

Mustang was quiet for a long moment, before he pointed out, "You've only got a month and a half left, but those cadets in your squad have much longer." 

Ed turned his head to stare at him so fast, he felt his neck pop. "You think he's going to fucking go after them?" 

"I don't know," Mustang admitted. "I haven't had much to do with Parnall since the academy, but I know he was a bully then, and it doesn't sound like he's changed much. Think about it." 

Ed turned to stare out the window again, not really seeing the scenery as it flew by. It had never occurred to him that Parnall would go after the others after he'd left, but if Ed managed to keep holding his temper with his squad's help, he might just lash out at them in a fit of rage. And that would be totally on Parnall, then, but that wouldn't be much comfort to whoever he kicked out. Worse, that wouldn't be much comfort to Ed when he eventually found out and realised he could have done something to stop the fucker, but he _hadn't_.

"You know," he muttered, "this whole being a commander with a conscience thing _sucks_."

"Yes, it does," Mustang agreed, and Ed caught his eyes – tired and filled with old pain – in the reflection of the window. 

Ed swallowed, then straightened and turned to his CO. "Tell me what I need to do." 

The flash of pride in Mustang's eyes shouldn't have felt as good as it did. 

-0-

They ended up being the last to arrive to the party, since they'd swung by Command – and boy had it been weird, being the one in uniform while Mustang was in civilian clothing – so Ed could file his complaint, first. They'd gone straight to Grumman, who hadn't seemed surprised by Ed's explanation, and it occurred to him that, given the academy was his purview, it would have been foolish for Grumman _not_ to have eyes and ears on the staff, just as Chris had her kitchen lady. Which meant he'd probably been aware of the problem since at least the second week of Ed's training, if not sooner, but hadn't been able to do anything about it unless Ed or one of his fellow squad members stepped forward. (And Mustang being the one sent down to get him made a lot more sense when you figured in what manipulative bastards both he and Grumman were. Ugh.) 

So things were already in swing when Mustang let them in – Ed had coughed when he'd seen the key and Mustang had shot him a silencing look before unlocking the door – but it was clear from her expression before she caught sight of them, that Elicia was very much determined to not have any fun. 

"Princess," Mustang called. 

Elicia's head snapped up and her whole face lit up with delight as she spotted them, then she was off like a shot, running at them and shouting, "Uncle Roy! Big Brother!" 

Mustang caught her with the same easy motion that Ed and Al had developed during the course of their regular visits, and Ed couldn't help but notice how the bastard's entire face changed, the usual guarded edge leaving his eyes and his expression shifting to one of such fondness, it actually physically hurt to look at. 

"You wore the blue!" Elicia realised of Ed, clearly pleased about that. 

Ed grinned at her. "What else was I going to do for your birthday?" he asked, and she giggled and reached for him. Once Mustang had handed her over, Ed kissed her cheek, then asked, "Where's your mum?" 

"Kitchen," Elicia informed him before perking up. "Flowers! You have to fix the flowers!" 

"I do, don't I? Are they in the kitchen, too?" 

"Yup!" 

Ed started in that direction while asking, "Do you wanna help me, or stay out here with your friends?" 

Elicia looked towards where the other children were playing in the living room, supervised by a couple of parents who Ed knew lived in the building. "I want my crown," she decided. 

Ed laughed and carried her into the kitchen, calling, "Hi, Gracia!" as he did. 

Gracia smiled up at him. "Oh, good. I assume Roy is out there, looking slightly lost?" 

From behind Ed, Mustang drily replied, "Roy is right here," and Ed glanced back to find him stepping into the kitchen, looking very obviously amused. 

Mischief lit Gracia's eyes and she picked up her camera, which was sitting next to the cake she'd been working on. "Elicia, didn't you have something you were going to tell Uncle Roy?" 

"Uh..." Elicia gave Ed an adorable confused look before her eyes lit up – and, holy shit, there was no way she didn't know _exactly_ what was going on; her mum must have explained things – and she very matter-of-factly informed Mustang, "Big Brother Ed looks better in uniform than you do, Uncle Roy." 

The wording was likely Gracia's, but the delivery was all Elicia, and Ed couldn't turn around, too afraid Mustang's expression would make him laugh. 

Mustang was silent for a moment, until the click of the camera – two pictures in – clearly registered, for he complained – _whined_ , Ed was going to treasure every moment of this – " _Gracia_!"

Gracia laughed and the two pictures she'd managed were slipped away into the pocket of her apron to develop safely. "I'm sorry, Roy," she said, and Ed _knew_ she was lying, "but I couldn't resist." 

"Fullmetal," Mustang growled. 

Ed was becoming intimately familiar with the signs that he needed to retreat, so he said, "Flowers for the crowns?" 

Gracia directed him to the section of worktop where all the flowers she'd bought had been set, and Ed carried Elicia over to get started. She picked out her favourite ones and Ed transmuted them into a proper princess crown, changing the strength of the stems a bit so they'd hold their shape, the flowers placed like gems. "Ah, one minute," he cautioned before Elicia could grab it up, and pulled one of the diamonds out of his pocket to deconstruct into miniature droplets, then sat the creation on her head once he was done. "Perfect," he told her, and Elicia squealed and ran back into the living room to show it off. 

"A diamond, Fullmetal?" Mustang asked, coming up to join him at the worktop while Ed started on another crown, much simpler than Elicia's. 

"Alchemy ingredients," Ed admitted. "Trick I picked up from Greed." 

Mustang hummed in understanding, then commented, "I've never worked with plants before." 

Ed glanced at him, then shrugged and, instead of turning his current batch of flowers onto a crown, had them form the array he was using, the opened blossoms forming the outer circle. As Mustang laughed, surprisingly open, Ed reached up and sat the creation on the man's head, since it looked enough like a crown from the sides and the centre had enough give that it wouldn't flop around on his head, and said, "Now you can say you have." 

Mustang didn't respond until he'd made his first crown, looking almost as perfect as Ed's own, save for the slight drooping of a few petals he hadn't watched out for: "It seems so." 

Ed laughed and got back to work, offering suggestions as he did. 

-0-

Cake was handed out after the crowns, and the only boy who'd grumbled about having to wear flowers had shut up when he caught sight of the quasi-crown that Mustang hadn't yet taken off. Ed's own crown – which he hadn't even seen Mustang make and hadn't been allowed to take off long enough to get a look at – didn't seem to faze the kid, and Ed couldn't say if that was because he'd seen Ed in one of Elicia's handmade crowns before, or because of his long hair. 

After cake were presents – Ed excused his lack of gift by insisting he'd done her crown; really, he just hadn't had the chance to get her anything – and then they all went downstairs to make snowmen, a quick use of alchemy turning the stomped down snow back into fluffy powder, much to the children's clear glee. Elicia had insisted on a snowman of Al, then made Ed pose with her for pictures next to it, and Ed knew his brother was going to be getting a lot of them. 

After playing in the snow, most of the kids went home, save for two girls whom Gracia sometimes sat for their busy parents, and they all returned indoors for hot chocolate, followed by a fake tea party. And, yeah, watching Mustang sit there with the tiny tea cup, politely sipping nothing while Elicia and her friends chattered at them, was _exactly_ as hilarious as Ed had expected it to be. 

He made his excuses and escaped to the loo, where he could snicker to himself in peace. Also, get a look at his crown, which turned out to be made up of larger blue blossoms – he hadn't seen any among the selection, so Mustang must have changed the colour – alternated with smaller pale gold, which didn't quite vanish against his hair, but did leave the impression that the whole crown had grown from Ed's head fully formed. It was admittedly stunning, even after having wilted a bit from being out in the late-winter chill, and Ed found himself using alchemy to revive it with a smile, just as he'd done for Elicia's when they'd first got back inside. 

A knock at the front door – probably one of the other girls' parents – finally brought Ed from the toilet. But, when he glanced down the hall at where Gracia was letting the visitor in, to see which of the children he should collect, he felt his eyes widening at the sight of them. "Old man Grumman?" he called, and heard a noise of surprise from Elicia's room, where Mustang was still playing with the girls. 

Grumman smiled at him, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Major Elric. Ah, good, Brigadier General Mustang. I was hoping to have a word with both of you." He turned to Gracia while Ed glanced back at where Mustang was standing just outside Elicia's room, wearing a frown that matched the one turning down the corners of Ed's own mouth. "I do apologise for the interruption to the festivities, Mrs Hughes, but I wanted to catch the major before he left to return to the fort." 

"I understand," Gracia replied, and Ed knew she did; she'd been married to a military man, once, after all. "Please feel free to use the living room while I check on the girls." 

Grumman followed Ed and Mustang into the living room, where they all sat down, Mustang and Ed taking the couch, while Grumman settled into one of the chairs across from them. Grumman leant forward slightly once they were all settled, his expression gone grim. "This issue with Colonel Parnall has the potential to turn quite nasty, if handled carelessly." 

"You mean my squad's going to get all the sh– crap he can't do to me," Ed translated, barely remembering to censor himself while Elicia was in hearing range. 

"That is a possibility," Grumman agreed. "However, there was a not-dissimilar case when I was a colonel, where the brigadier general abusing his station, upon learning his victim had reported him, attacked her." Ed clenched his jaw. "And I'm aware you're capable of protecting yourself, Elric, but I would rather avoid a bloodbath over this." 

Ed could get behind that, even if all he really wanted to do was punch out all of Parnall's teeth. "You want me to stay in Central while this gets settled," he guessed. Which would completely fuck with his training, but the syllabus suggested a lot of what was left could be handled just fine off-site, save the physical exercises. If Grumman pushed the matter through, Ed could be back in time for the last-week tests and graduation, at the latest. 

"No," Mustang murmured, "you want me to act as an oversight." Ed looked over at him, frowning; oversight? "I'm due back in Ishval in a week." 

"And I'm willing to explain the situation to Captain Hawkeye when she gives me the weekly report," Grumman returned. 

Ed stared at the Führer as he figured out what was going on: Grumman wanted Mustang to come out to the fort and serve as a very obvious guard against any form of backlash, whether that be violence against Ed himself, or punishment against his squad for imagined misbehaviour. It would mean cutting his leave short, leave that he was supposed to be _spending with Elicia_. "Mustang's on _leave_ ," he insisted. 

"I can finish it after this is handled," Mustang said. 

"No, you _ca_ –" Ed started. 

"Fullmetal," Mustang said by way of warning, and Ed shut up, but turned a glare on him. Quieter, meant to stay between them, Mustang said, "She'll understand." 

Elicia understanding wasn't the _point_ , but Ed clenched his jaw to keep that to himself; sometimes, the military had to come before their families, and he _hated_ that he was beginning to understand that mentality. 

Mustang turned back to Grumman, his expression that lazy, 'I'm only dealing with you because I _have_ to' one that had always been as certain to make Ed explode as commenting on his height. "I expect you have orders to take back with me, unless you're intending to have Parnall ring you at home tonight," he drawled. 

Grumman reacted to neither expression nor tone, which Ed thought was kind of unfair, but did pull a sheaf of papers out of a case he had with him, which he handed to Mustang. Then he pulled out another piece of paper. "This may be of interest to you, Elric," he offered with the paper. 

Ed took it with a frown and glanced down to find a brief typed note on military stationary, which stated, _'Search ordered of Elric's belongings while he's off base. Nothing found. -Siemans'_

Ed's first reaction, contrary to expectation, was resignation; he'd halfway expected something like this, which was why he'd taken such care in hiding everything he'd received from Chris, and why his alchemy journals were split between Granny's and the Hugheses' (Gracia had agreed to keep safe the few he'd had with him), save the barely-used one he'd slipped in with his class things. Following the resignation was surprise; he hadn't guessed that Captain Siemans was loyal to Grumman, not with how well he appeared to fit in with the rest of Parnall's staff. 

At last, there was the anger, muted under everything else, and he muttered, "If they ruined any of my pictures, I'm going to do something unspeakable." 

Grumman chuckled at that and, when Mustang glanced over in question, Ed handed him the paper. Mustang's mouth thinned and he glanced at Ed. After a moment of silence, he commented, "It seems your ability to respond to slights rationally has grown where you haven't, Fullmetal." 

Oh, good, _there_ was the flash of anger that he hadn't felt at the note, which he snatched back and mouthed, 'Fuck you,' at the bastard. Who responded by smirking at him in that way that made Ed really want to punch him in the face. 

It was almost nice to return to the status quo, inexplicably as soothing as it was infuriating. And, fuck, his relationship with Mustang was never going to make any damn sense, was it? 

And then his mind supplied, in Greed's smug tone, _'I bet the sex would be **fantastic**.'_

Ed jumped to his feet, unable to face that particular line of thought right then, and hoped the two bastards would just assume he was reacting in anger to Mustang's bastardness. "If that's all?" he demanded of Grumman. 

Grumman, looking far too amused, nodded and stood. "I believe so," he agreed, before putting on a thoughtful look. "Ah, there was one thing." 

Ed crossed his arms over his chest and scowled, while Mustang stood next to him and politely requested, "Sir?" 

Grumman focussed on Ed, his expression hardening. "An explanation for the risk Second Lieutenant Potez is taking." 

Oh, Ed should have guessed he'd be questioned on his choice to allow Heinkel to join the pro-Bradley faction they'd found in the west. They'd been sending back some good intel on the plans of that faction – including getting a warning out to a nearby military outpost before the faction attacked it – and had determined locations of another couple splinters along the Drachman border, but the fact remained that Heinkel was sitting right in the middle of an enemy stronghold, and Ed had allowed it. Had allowed a couple of minor risks that he'd deemed worth it, actually. The only request Ed had refused was allowing them to capture a couple of the splinter cells, because he needed to be out there to cover their backs if shit went south. 

Ed was never going to let himself be military enough to straighten and salute as he explained himself, but he did uncross his arms and modulate his tone to something that, for him, was respectful, as he said, "Heinkel knows what he's doing, and I trust him to do the smart thing and get out if things get too hot for him. And I trust Darius to cover him if necessary. But we _need_ that intel, and if they just stayed out there, poking their noses in aimlessly like they were doing, something was going to explode in their faces. There's risk no matter how we cut it – it's not like they're actually on holiday – but this had the better reward." 

Grumman held his stare for a long moment, giving nothing away, then nodded. "Good. I expect you to come by my office after graduation, then you can go join them." 

He'd already intended to stop in Central before heading west, to visit Elicia and Gracia, and pick up any last-minute items Chris might have for him; adding a visit to Command wouldn't be too much trouble, though it did occur to him... "Is it possible for me to take them off leave while I'm there?" 

Grumman gave a slow nod. "Given the circumstances, yes. If you can get a written note from both of them stating their change in status, that will assist in formalising the request." 

He had a month before graduation, plenty of time for him to send out a message to them and get their paperwork back. "I'll have them when I drop by," he promised. 

"Excellent." Grumman smiled at them. "That's all, then." 

"I'll show you out," Mustang offered, and he and Grumman left the room. 

Ed was left staring down at the half-crumpled note in his hand, a notice of the absolute violation of his privacy and possible leverage over a spy. "I'm so sick of shadows," Ed whispered, before clapping his hands and using his deconstruction alchemy to turn it into dust, letting it filter into the air, beyond even his own ability to reconstruct. 

The end of March couldn't come soon enough; he seriously needed to blow some shit up. 

-0-

Ed and Mustang stayed through dinner, before leaving to many tears on Elicia's part. "It never gets easier, does it?" he asked Mustang as they got into his car, fingering the edge of the stack of photos Gracia had given him. "Saying goodbye to her." 

Mustang glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. "Not yet," he allowed, and Ed nodded in understanding; eventually, Elicia would be old enough to move past her fear that her family leaving for work meant they would never return. "I need to collect my things from my hotel and check out; is there anywhere you needed to go before we head out?" 

Ed frowned, considering that, even as he asked, "We're not taking the train?" 

Mustang shook his head. "There's one leaving in an hour, but I'd rather have my car on site, if I'm going to be there for an extended stay." 

Ed bit back on the urge to apologise, certain the bastard wouldn't accept it. Instead, fingering the quick note he'd written at the Hugheses, just in case, he requested, "Madame Christmas." Because if he could drop off the request for Heinkel and Darius to send back their return to active duty paperwork on his way out of town, he wouldn't have to wait for it to make it back to Chris whenever her woman made the post drop. 

Mustang met his eyes in the rear-view mirror again, his own sharp and a little searching. "Not in uniform, please." 

Ed could see the sense in that, so he shrugged off his jacket, leaving him in his vest and the button-up he'd got into the habit of wearing while on the run, as well as the butt cape, which he could remove at the hotel, and the trousers, which he could change the colour of without much trouble. 

He did indeed finish disguising his uniform in the hotel car park, while Mustang collected his things and checked out. When the man returned, he glanced at Ed's trousers, then drily commented, "I'm sure there's a rule about altering your uniform, somewhere." 

Ed scoffed. "Fuck 'em. I can change it back." Anyway, he'd already altered his uniform by adding the carbon, not that he was going to mention that to anyone outside his team and brother; as much as he trusted Mustang, he wasn't about to give up _all_ his secrets. 

Once they were on their way, Mustang asked, "Should I ask how you found the madam?" 

"Grumman." 

Mustang nodded, then glanced at Ed in the rear-view mirror, his eyes gleaming with humour. "I'm almost surprised you went in, Fullmetal. Though," he added, before Ed could reply, "I don't expect you really knew what you were walking into until it was too late." 

"I know what a madam does, Mustang," Ed retorted, smirking when Mustang looked over his shoulder at him with a faintly disbelieving look. "And the neighbourhood kinda gave it away, so, sure, Al was kinda uncertain. That one lady who met us at the door, tried to spook us off, uh..." He rubbed his nose, searching back for her name. "Peggy?" 

"Blonde, large breasts?" Mustang suggested, and Ed would bet good money he was hoping for a blush. 

"That's her, yeah. She freaked Al out. Tried to hit on him." 

Mustang snorted. "It could have been worse," he offered. "Dorothy could have been the one to meet you." 

Ed had met Dorothy exactly once, and her giggling and obviously forced blushing had nearly given him hives. That said... "Nah. Al would have liked her, I think." 

Mustang shot him a startled look. "Exactly how many times have you visited Madame Christmas, Fullmetal?" he demanded as he parked them a couple blocks over from the pub, where the streets were wide enough to easily allow it. 

Ed shrugged and offered, "She's got good beer on tap," before climbing out. 

Before he could close his door, he was fairly certain he heard Mustang mutter, "I am not having this conversation." 

Ed grinned and gave himself a mental pat on the back for getting one over on his CO without leaving feeling guilty, for once. 

The walk to the pub was silent, and Ed let Mustang lead the way in. While Mustang was almost immediately the centre of attention, two of the women on the floor coming over to greet him, Ed was able to slip past him and get over to the bar without anyone really noticing. 

"Hello, Ed," Chris offered, flashing him a knowing smirk as Mustang let out a very loud, very _fake_ laugh. "Aren't you supposed to be heading out soon?" 

Ed shrugged and offered her a smile. "There's always time for a drink, Madame." 

She snorted at him, but turned to get him his beer. When she returned with it, she held out a hand. "Pay up or no drink." 

"I forgot to pay you _once_ ," Ed complained, because he and Al had never handed over money that first time, with all the back-and-forth. "Are you going to hold it over my head forever?" 

"Yes." 

Ed rolled his eyes and pulled out the bank notes he already had ready, his note for Darius and Heinkel hidden between them. " _Fine_."

Chris traded him the drink for his money and turned put it away and, he was certain, hide the note away to deal with later. 

Mustang sighed as he sat down next to Ed. "Delinquent." 

"Fuck off," Ed ordered over his glass. "No one likes you." 

"Did you completely miss that display?" Mustang asked as Chris slid a tumbler filled with what looked like scotch across the bar to him. "Thank you, Madame." 

"No fighting in my pub," Chris ordered, pointing between them. 

Ed let out an agreeable noise into his drink, while Mustang put on an affronted looked and said, "You wound me, Madame." 

"Drop the pretentious attitude, or I'll cut you off for the rest of the year, boy," Chris ordered. 

It was an act of will to keep from spitting his drink everywhere. Fuck, he loved the women in Mustang's life who he couldn't make eyes at; they took none of his shit and took as much pleasure in fucking with him as Ed did. 

Mustang sighed and drooped slightly. "Please don't. I'm going to need the alcohol when I get back in a couple weeks." 

Chris raised an eyebrow at him. "Change in schedule?" 

Mustang slumped further, the picture of misery. "Ed's having trouble with an old classmate of mine, so I got dragged into helping out." 

Chris glanced towards Ed. "About time," she muttered. 

"Shut up," Ed muttered back, and he really fucking hated how many people were keeping tabs on him. 

Another patron further down the bar called Chris away, then, and she left them to their drinks. "Only one," Mustang warned into his tumbler. 

Ed huffed, because he always kept it at just one alcoholic drink; he'd done the hangover and couldn't-remember-the-night-before shit once, and that was quite enough, thanks. And, yeah, he knew he could handle more than one drink without regretting it in the morning, but there was nothing wrong with setting limits for those times Greed had passed him something way stronger than a fucking beer. "I'm not a fucking drunk," he muttered. 

"Current appearances–"

"Oh, go get fucked, bastard." 

"I'm fairly certain we don't have the time for that." 

Ed sighed and closed his eyes against the mental image that comment gave birth to; he really hated his brain, sometimes. 

They finished their drinks without any further snarking, then waved to Chris and left. 

As soon as he got in the car, Ed changed the colour of his trousers back, before he could forget, then settled back into the seat, not bothering to fuss about with getting redressed until they were closer to the fort. 

They were both quiet for a long while. But, once they'd passed out of the reaching sprawl of Central, Mustang said, "I somehow missed that you'd gained a team." 

Ed glanced at what he could see of the man's face in the rear-view mirror, dark as it was without the city lights. "Those two chimeras I was with before the Promised Day," he explained, "Darius Wright and Heinkel Potez. They apparently agreed to return to the military only if they could serve under me." 

Mustang let out an acknowledging hum, then said, "And you're running them on a covert op while stuck in training." 

Ed huffed. "Yeah. They were originally just gonna cool their heels in Central, but then Chris said she was having trouble getting a handle on what was going down in the west, so I asked if they wanted to go out there and handle it and they did. They send reports back to Chris and she passes them on to me and old man Grumman." 

Mustang was quiet for a moment, the silence falling heavy between them, before he asked, "What, exactly, is the madam having trouble getting a handle on?" 

"You don't know?" he murmured, disbelieving, and it occurred to him that, out in Ishval, Mustang probably didn't get much information about the disquiet plaguing the rest of the nation, unless Grumman or Gracia passed on word about it, and Ed was fairly certain that neither of them would. 

Mustang pulled the car over and pulled the handbrake, then turned to Ed, the light of the nearest estate reflecting in his dark eyes. "What's going on, Fullmetal?" 

Ed swallowed, because it was distinctly unsettling, knowing more than Mustang, for once; as much as he'd always dreamt of this moment as a kid, the reality was a heavy stone in his stomach. "Some of Bradley's supporters slipped through the cracks," he explained. "They're stirring up trouble; soon as I'm done with training, Grumman wants me to hunt them down." 

The headlights of a vehicle going the opposite direction cast the angry lines of Mustang's expression into sharp relief. "When, exactly, was I going to be informed about this?" he demanded. "Or are you the Führer's man, now?" 

"Of course I'm not fucking _his_!" Ed shouted, before digging into his pocket and pulling out the lighter to hold up between them. Mustang's eyes widened enough to be visible in the low light and Ed snarled, "You think I care what Grumman could do with me? You think this is just about _him_? They're talking just as much shit about you in the papers – you and Ishval – and it was _your fucking aunt_ who put me onto this, not fucking _Grumman_."

Mustang's hand folded around Ed's, the lighter held between them, and Ed felt his breath hitch. "I'm sorry," he offered quietly. 

Ed snatched his hand away, curling his fingers around the lighter tight enough to ache. "I thought you knew," he said, his voice coming out too fucking rough. "You always fucking know." 

"Not this time," Mustang admitted, turning away and lowering the handbrake. "Fill me in," he suggested as he smoothly pulled back onto the roadway. 

Ed forced his hand to loosen around the lighter and slipped it back into his pocket, then set about telling Mustang everything he'd found out since his meeting with Grumman upon returning to Central. 

-0-

They stopped over in Gamitz so Mustang could change into his uniform and Ed could put his butt cape and jacket back on. Mustang had been quiet since Ed had finished filling him in, and Ed had left him to it; fuck knew he'd needed time to process everything himself, and he wasn't even one of the targets of the slander. Hell, from what Heinkel and Darius had reported, he wasn't even on that faction's radar, beyond an occasional comment about how, if Grumman was so much better than Bradley, where was the Fullmetal Alchemist? Because Ed returning to the military wasn't common knowledge, though he expected that would change once his promotion was official. 

Once they were both back in the car and Mustang had turned them onto the dirt road out to the fort, he said, "You're to send me reports as soon as you finish here. Figure out a way." 

A part of Ed wanted to tell Mustang where he could stuff his reports, but a much greater part of him understood; he had his own team he needed to keep tabs on, now, and it was clear no one was making keeping Mustang in the loop a priority. "I'll see if Marie isn't willing to serve as a go-between," he offered. He could send something for Chris to post to her in his next batch of reports, then maybe call her after he was certain she'd have got it for her answer. 

Urgh. Now he was dragging his childhood neighbours into these shadow games. Fucking military. 

"Marie?" Mustang repeated, the question clear. 

Ed couldn't quite suppress a smile at the fact that the bastard hadn't already learnt the name of every woman in Resembool, though he suspected Mustang usually had far too much else on his mind when he went through. "The baker. Who has a husband and two kids, so don't even think about it." 

Mustang snorted. "I know better than to start something with small village women, Fullmetal. _Especially_ small village women who are loyal to you." 

Ed wouldn't necessarily call the people of Resembool _loyal_ to him, but he knew they'd side with him before anyone else in the military. "If Marie's unwilling," he continued, "I can probably talk Granny into passing on anything for me." 

Mustang nodded, barely visible in the darkness. "I'll leave the specifics in your hands, then." 

Ed snorted at that. 

"Preferably with less destroyed buildings than is your usual," Mustang added. 

"Shut up, bastard," Ed ordered, but he knew his amusement was obvious in his voice. 

By the time they'd pulled into one of the suggestions of parking spaces in front of the fort and both got out, Parnall had appeared in the entrance. "You're _late_ , Elric!" he bellowed. 

Mustang caught his shoulder. "Straight to your room," he murmured. "Just keep walking." 

Ed clenched his jaw and nodded; as much as he would have loved to rub shit in Parnall's face, the best thing he could do was ignore him, just like when he started in on him to get a reaction. 

"Colonel Parnall," Mustang called ahead of them, and Parnall stiffened. 

With the arsehole distracted by Mustang's approach, Ed was easily able to slip past him and into the fort. With a sigh, he made his way up to his hallway. It wasn't quite lights out, yet, but Ed wasn't surprised to see everyone's doors already closed. 

He slipped into his room and quietly closed his own door before looking around. Nothing appeared to be out of place, at first glance, but a closer look showed the books on his desk far more neatly stacked than he usually left them, and the photo of Al and Elicia on his bedside table was turned too much towards the door. Little things, things he wouldn't have even noticed if he hadn't been looking for them, and he ground his teeth together as he stepped forward and gently turned the photo back towards the head of his bed. 

The new stack of photos from Gracia were left on his desk, then Ed emptied his pockets onto his desk and bedside table before walking over to his wardrobe to change. While he was there, he did a quick check on his hiding place in the floor, feeling around it, first, for any signs of tampering, then alchemising it open and checking inside to be sure none of the papers had been more neatly stacked; for all that he was willing to trust Siemans when he said they hadn't found Ed's hiding place, he still felt better for checking. But everything was exactly as he'd left it, and he returned the cover to its previous state with a quiet sigh before turning in for the night. 

-0-

His sleep was troubled that night, filled with vague images of shadowy figures stealing into his room and rifling through his things. His pictures and pocket watch and lighter all picked up and moved away from him before he could snatch them back. 

When the early morning horn blared to wake them, Ed cursed himself out of bed. It wasn't until he reached down to make his bed that he realised that he'd grabbed the lighter at one point in the night and it was still clenched tightly in his hand. He stared down at it for a moment, before a noise out in the hallway had him rushing to finish his bed and throw on his shirt before stepping out into the hall to join his hall mates, the lighter still clenched tight in one hand. 

Siemans was as efficient as ever in checking their rooms, and they were quickly dismissed for their physical training. 

After everything that had happened the day before, followed by his rough night, Ed was honestly grateful for the chance to beat the ever-loving fuck out of his usual punching bag in the gym. Judging by the wide berth everyone afforded him, his ire was obvious, but he really didn't give enough of a fuck to ease up. 

A shower eased what strain the punching bag hadn't, and when Ed joined Lois and Taylor to walk down to the mess, he felt much more like himself. 

"So," Lois started, "how's your sister?" 

Ed sighed. "Wishing she could make her birthday last longer so I'd stick around, I suspect," he admitted. 

Lois winced. "Yeah, that sucks. Still, only a month left, right?" 

"Right," Ed agreed, and he sounded a lot more cheerful than he felt; a month left of training, then he was off to the west to hunt down Bradley's supporters. So, still no extended time with Elicia, but, well, that was military life, he supposed. 

Ed noticed Mustang right off, sitting in Parnall's usual seat at the commander's table, while Parnall himself had been left sitting next to him and looking so very cross about it. But neither Lois nor Taylor gave any sign they saw the change until after they'd all sat and Lois, who was perfectly positioned to see the change in seating, went very still and whispered, " _Shit_." She looked at Ed as everyone else in their squad turned to see what had caught her attention. "What did you _do_ , Ed?" 

"Who's the new guy?" one of the cadets, Ben Grahame, asked. 

"And why's he sitting in the colonel's spot?" Lisa Coanda, another cadet, added. 

"That's Brigadier General Mustang," Taylor supplied, also turning to Ed with wide eyes. "I thought he was out east." 

Ed swallowed, then admitted, "I reported Parnall. Mustang's here to keep things from exploding." 

"Holy _shit_ ," Lois said into the silence that fell over their table. 

"Okay," Taylor finally said, "but why _him_? Out east. Ishval, right?" 

Ed grimaced faintly and nodded. "Old man Grumman pulled him off leave to handle this." 

"Aren't there rules against that?" Nick Halberstadt (of the bouncy knee) complained. 

"Yeah," Ed admitted, before tiredly adding, "Mustang's my direct CO. Pretty sure old man Grumman was just looking for someone who could manage me." 

Taylor choked. "Your CO?" he demanded, his expression disbelieving. "The one you often refer to as, and I quote, 'that smug bastard whose face needs to meet my fist'?" 

Ed couldn't help it, he just started laughing; he kind of couldn't wait for his squad to see him and Mustang interacting. 

-0-

Of course, since Ed was looking forward to it, he didn't see Mustang outside the mess for days. And it probably would have kept up, except on Tuesday evening, when he delivered the kick that broke the punching bag, he heard the familiar voice drily comment, "I'm fairly certain they didn't build that for automail, Fullmetal." 

The gym wasn't empty, but nor was it as full as it would have been during their designated morning physical training time. Not that how full the place was would have stopped Ed from retorting, "Fuck off, bastard," as he reached up to unhook the broken punching bag from its stand; he _could_ repair it while it was still hanging, but it was easier if he didn't need to fight against gravity to get the sand back in the bag, and putting the damn thing back up was good strength training. 

Of course, just because Ed didn't care who heard him being an insubordinate shit, didn't mean that other people were okay with hearing it, as shown by Nick almost immediately saying, "I'm sorry about him, sir. He doesn't–"

"I'm used to Fullmetal, Cadet," Mustang interrupted, his tone dry, and Ed allowed himself a smirk as he clapped and fixed the punching bag. "That said, I appreciate that _someone_ here respects the chain of command." 

"I respect the chain of command," Ed retorted. "I am _always_ respectful to Hawkeye." Then he picked up the repaired bag and lifted it back onto its hook while Mustang let out a wry laugh. Once it was up, he turned to face his CO, only to raise his eyebrows when he found the man in what looked suspiciously like exercise clothing. "Wait, you _exercise_?" he couldn't stop from asking. Even though he _knew_ Mustang wasn't as lazy as he pretended, had seen him hold his own against the would-be-Bradleys under Central Command, resorting to hand-to-hand because they had been moving too quick to allow any of them time to transmute. 

Mustang gave him a flat look. "Did you think I spent all my life behind a desk, doing paperwork?" he asked drily. 

" _Avoiding_ doing paperwork, Brigadier General Lazy Bastard." 

Mustang sighed. "Please go back to abusing your punching bag instead of me." 

Ed snorted, but did as requested, distantly aware of Mustang making his way through the exercise equipment, while Nick and the other cadets in the gym all followed suit, occasionally casting looks Ed or Mustang's way. 

When he finished fixing the punching bag for the sixth time – usually as much abuse as he ever put it through – Ed turned to watch Mustang work with the weights, vaguely impressed with how much he was lifting. 

"I cannot believe," Nick murmured as he stepped up next to Ed's side, "you just got away with that." 

Ed shrugged. "It's habit, any more," he offered, before casting his squad member an apologetic look. "Sorry. I probably should have warned you lot that I actually insult Mustang to his face." 

"You _think_? God, Ed, I just about had a heart attack back there. If that was Parnall, we'd _all_ be in the stocks right now." 

Ed grimaced. "If Parnall'd been the one to walk in here, I wouldn't have opened my mouth." He hoped. "Well, and I'd probably have received a dressing down for breaking the punching bag. As if I can't fix it." 

Nick huffed, glancing towards the much-abused punching bag. "He's right, you know. That bag's not meant for what you put it through." 

Ed shrugged. "If I had someone to spar with, I would. But I don't." 

Nick frowned at him. "Like hand-to-hand? Don't Stephan and Sabine train with the Squad C leader? What's his name, Tugan?" 

"Charlie Tugan, yeah." Ed grimaced, not sure how to explain that even Charlie was so far below his level, he'd have to hold back too much to make it worth it. 

"I somehow suspect," Mustang offered as he sat up, ducking the bar of the weights, "that Warrant Officer Tugan isn't quite at Fullmetal's level." 

"Didn't your mother ever teach you not to eavesdrop on other people's conversations?" Ed complained. 

Mustang raised an eyebrow at him. "No. What did you do for the combat training?" 

"Cried," Ed deadpanned, and Nick started laughing, because he'd been there for Ed's rant about how pathetic the military's expectations were in regards to the fitness of their soldiers, while Mustang's mouth twitched. Ed rolled his eyes. "I held back, of course. I _am_ capable of fighting people weaker than me." 

"Without bringing a building down on their head?" Mustang replied. "I'm impressed." 

"Shut up. You people are way too fucking attached to your buildings." 

"Not everyone desires to live out of a suitcase." 

"I like my suitcase!" 

Mustang's eyes gleamed in a way that immediately put Ed on guard. "Yes, I know. It's just your size: small." 

" _Who're you calling so tiny you couldn't see him under a microscope_?!" Ed raged, and it was only years of having a desk in the way and Hawkeye in the next room that kept him from taking a swipe at the smug-as-fuck smirk the bastard put on. 

"Did I say all that?" Mustang asked mildly, laughter in his voice. "You really should learn to move past that tiny issue of yours, Fullmetal." 

Ed didn't even think about it, he just stepped forward and swung, aiming straight for Mustang's face for one glorious moment, before the bastard stepped neatly out of the way. The pivot was natural, and calculations sparked across his mind, pushing out the fury, as he spotted Mustang standing in a ready position. The realisation that he'd been goaded into an attack hit as he extended his left fist, and he shifted his stance as he connected with Mustang's crossed arms, pulling the punch, and snapped, "Do you have a fucking _death wish_?"

Mustang's expression was flat behind his guard. "Kick me with your left leg and you'll be spending your first month as a lieutenant colonel inspecting the moat around Central Command for faults," he replied. 

So, not _quite_ a death wish, but pretty damn close. 

Still, it was a very Mustang sort of permission, and Ed had been itching for a proper fight since he and Parnall had butted heads over the gun. And he'd always wanted an excuse to punch the bastard in the face. 

Still, Mustang wasn't Al or Teacher, so Ed stepped it back. Not as much as he would have against any of the other cadets or command candidates, because he knew Mustang wasn't _that_ pathetic, but still. Urge to punch him in the face or no, Ed liked Mustang far too much to actually aim to hurt him. 

Mustang just blocked the first few hits, before commenting, "This is pathetic, Fullmetal. Are you even _trying_?"

"Shut–" Ed snarled, adding just enough force behind his next punch to break through the bastard's guard, "– _up_!"

Except Mustang didn't block that hit; he ducked easily under it and aimed a punch at Ed's stomach. 

Ed was going too strong to pull back, but he managed to get his right hand down to block the hit against his stomach, used Mustang's extended arm to help springboard himself over the bastard's head and flipped above him, just barely managing to keep his feet as he touched down and immediately spun around. 

Mustang was standing there, dragging one hand through his hair and wearing that _really fucking obnoxious_ smirk. "Are you done?" he asked, and his tone may have been careless, but the gleam in his eyes was pure challenge. 

'Are you done holding back?' those eyes demanded. 

Ed put on his sharpest grin, teeth bared, and stretched his fingers out in front of him, letting the sound of cracking knuckles fill the silence hanging over the gym. "Yup," he decided, before running straight at his CO, arm cocked to throw a punch, not even considering checking his speed. 

Mustang was far closer to Ed's level than he'd anticipated, only took maybe a third of the attacks Ed aimed at him, and even managed to land a solid punch to Ed's shoulder when he'd had to check himself just before kicking out with his left leg. 

Eventually, though, he spotted the signs of Mustang flagging, and knew he was heading towards his own limit – far too low after almost two months without anyone to spar with – so he caught Mustang's next kick and, instead of using his hold to toss the bastard, grabbed for his closest hand to balance him. 

Mustang clasped his hand back, the grip of comrades instead of opponents, and Ed let his leg go. 

"Pretty sure," Ed couldn't resist commenting, ignoring his own shortness of breath, "that you're getting too old to–"

"Be quiet, Fullmetal," Mustang ordered. 

Ed grinned and withdrew his hand, vaguely surprised to realise neither of them had let go sooner. "You realise you have a habit of over-extending with your left," he said, to hide his surprise. And because, honestly, Mustang wasn't a bad fighter, and Ed had nothing against offering some pointers; as they'd already found, there wasn't always time to transmute. 

Mustang's gaze flickered down to his left arm before returning to Ed. "No," he admitted. 

Ed nodded and held up his own left fist between them. "You're overcompensating for it being your weaker side, throwing your punch harder and stretching too far. Tighten up a bit and I won't get half as many hits through." Because that particular weakness had been easy pickings. 

Mustang's grimace was brief enough that Ed suspected he was the only one to have caught it, in spite of their rapt audience. "Right." 

Ed flashed him his best 'I'm a shit' smile. "Other than that, you're decent." 

Mustang's mouth twitched, his eyes glinting with the smile he'd suppressed. "High praise." 

"Don't get used to it, bastard," Ed shot back, and it was an honest struggle to keep his amusement from showing; he should have known the easy manner of their verbal sparring (when Mustang kept his comments about Ed's _perfectly normal height_ to himself) would translate to physical sparring. 

And Ed yanked himself away from that line of thought before it could go any further, shoving a foot in the face of his mental Greed before he could start suggesting he should sleep with his CO again. "Right!" he called, knocking a light fist against Mustang's arm as he stepped past him, towards the door. "Not all of us can delegate our work, Brigadier General Lazy, so you'll have to excuse me." 

Mustang snorted at that, but let him go, so Ed retreated under the heavy stares of the cadets in the gym, feeling so much lighter than he had in weeks.

.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a side-story for this chapter, which can be found, as always, here on AO3 or on LiveJournal. As a reminder, you may wish to read the whole chapter first, to avoid any confusion.

Ed couldn't even pretend to be surprised when his spar with Mustang was the talk of breakfast. Most of the questions he was able to brush off with a laugh – including if there'd be another spar, because he honestly didn't know, though he kind of hoped so – but Lois sat down next to him, booting Omar down a seat, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, clearly intending to hold him in place until he explained: "What in god's name possessed you to _punch_ a commanding officer?"

"He said–" Nick started. 

"Shut up, Halberstadt," Lois interrupted. "I'm asking Elric." 

Lois, Ed was fairly certain, was going to make a _fantastic_ commanding officer (though maybe a bit too much like Hawkeye when she was displeased). Actually, he was fairly certain that all the command candidates were going to make great commanders, even Lawrence Wackett, who had bought into Bradley's good name and wouldn't be convinced otherwise. (There was always one idiot, but Ed had seen him watching out for his squad enough times to know that Wackett, at least, cared about the people under him, and idolising Bradley left him with a number of the homunculus' public traits that had suited a commander.) 

The arm around Ed's shoulders shifted up, an obvious bid for a headlock, and he cleared his throat. "The bastard goaded me into it?" he offered, and it came out as more of a question because that was a damn weak defence and he _knew_ it. Hadn't Parnall been spending the last two months trying to goad him into a response? 

"So, my mum," Lisa Coanda commented, "invested in a leash for my brothers, since they've got this habit of wandering off while we're heading somewhere." 

Ed opened his mouth to tell her where she could shove _that_ idea, but Lois' hand wrapped around and covered his mouth. "Sadly," she said to Lisa, "I doubt a leash will help with this problem. Maybe a muzzle." 

Ed picked up his fork and waved it threateningly in Lois' direction. 

Lois huffed. "Ed, seriously, the fuck? You're not that careless." 

Wasn't he, though? Could an argument be made that it was his squad that kept him in line? Or was he getting better at biting his tongue? 

Ed set his fork back on his tray and pulled Lois' hand from his mouth to say the one thing he knew for certain: "Mustang's always let me get away with that shit." He glanced at her. "I've been in the military nearly five years, Lois; what possible reason could I have for my continued trouble with authority, save a CO who has never cared?" 

Lois' expression was tight. "What if Parnall had been there?" 

"He wasn't." 

"But what if he _was_?"

Ed shook his head, let a mean little smile crawl across his face. "Oh, I'd pay good money to see him try to call me out when the ranking officer doesn't give a fuck." Because Ed was positive that Mustang wouldn't stand back and let the fucker punish Ed's squad because Ed'd let himself be goaded into punching the smug bastard's face. 

Lois withdrew, clearly not sharing in his amusement. 

"Be careful anyway," Taylor suggested, his burn scars pulled tight with concern. "Trapped animals tend to be twice as vicious." 

Ed felt his amusement drain away, because didn't he know, better than any of them, exactly what humans could do when they were desperate? He clenched his right hand into a fist and gave a sharp nod, which seemed to be a sufficient response, for talk moved on to the lessons for the day. 

-0-

Ed wasn't surprised when Taylor and Lois both joined him after dinner when he set off for the gym. He was even less surprised to find it almost as crowded as it usually was during the morning exercise period. Rolling his eyes, he went straight for his usual punching bag; it wasn't like he or Mustang had said they'd spar again. (Even if he sort of really wanted to.) 

Mustang didn't show up until Ed was finishing fixing the punching bag for the last time, and the room going absolutely silent announced his presence. 

Mustang, because he was a self-assured bastard, smirked and went straight for the weights, not even glancing in Ed's direction. 

Ed snorted, gave himself a moment to consider his options, then shrugged and left. Much to, he was certain, the gathered disappointment of everyone in the gym. But he wasn't going to hang around and wait for Mustang to warm up, not when he could be taking a shower and ringing the Hugheses. Which it was sort of his day to do, so... 

Mustang would understand, even if no one else did. 

-0-

Mustang showed up late consistently for over a week, until the wanna-be spectators – including members of the fort staff – had finally given up and returned to their usual schedules. Only then did Mustang show up shortly after Ed, and when Ed finished putting the fixed punching bag up for the fourth time, he caught the bastard watching him. He raised an eyebrow at him and Mustang smirked in response, then glanced towards the empty mats where they _should_ have sparred the first time, if Ed hadn't lost all sense and tried to punch him in the middle of the floor. 

Ed took a moment to consider his workload for the evening; his classwork would be easy, but he had a package from Chris to go through. Not that he expected there to be anything particularly interesting in there – Al's next package wasn't due for at least another two weeks, and most of the information Darius and Heinkel were passing on, while useful in the long run, didn't do much more than make him wish time would speed up – but still, he might get surprised. 

Ed snorted to himself and gave a slight nod to the bastard; who was he kidding, he was far more interested in sparring with Mustang again than he was in what might or might not be in his package from Chris. 

He and Mustang made their way over to the mats, others around the room falling still as they realised what was going on. And it really should not have amused Ed so much that the cadets were so interested in watching him and his CO beat each other up, but, well, he kind of couldn't blame them. 

As they stopped across from each other, Ed couldn't keep from commenting, "Let's see if you've learnt anything," though he did manage to keep the 'bastard' to himself; his squad would be so relieved. 

Mustang's mouth curled with that smirk of his. "Indeed." And then he threw the first punch, leading with his left. 

Ed felt a grin pulling across his face as the bastard controlled his swing, and rewarded him by ducking down and trying to sweep Mustang's feet out from under him, which he barely managed to dodge. 

Ed knew, from his squad, that Mustang would often tackle the punching bags after he'd left for the evening, and it showed in the added ease of the bastard's movements – a fluidity of changing between attacks that he had been lacking during their first spar, not to mention the control of his left punches and kicks – as well as his improved stamina. 

The spar went on longer than their first had, but Ed still stopped Mustang before the bastard could exhaust himself. 

There was a moment of silence as they both caught their breaths, Ed grinning madly, while amusement glinted in Mustang's eyes, before someone let out a whistle, and a few other people started clapping, which turned into nearly fucking _all_ the cadets and most of the command candidates showing their appreciation, because some arsehole had clearly spread the word about the spar while Ed and Mustang had been busy, and the gym was _packed_.

"Fuck it," Ed muttered, and Mustang let out a quiet snort that Ed had heard enough times to know Mustang shared his resignation at the situation. "Showy bastard," he muttered under the cover of the response from their audience. 

Mustang raised an eyebrow at him. "Kettle, meet pot." 

"Fuck you." 

Mustang put on his most irritating smirk and, as the applause died off and it looked like they might be swarmed, said, "I'm sure you have classwork to get to, Fullmetal." 

Ed snorted. "Yeah, you only _wish_ you had my work ethic," he retorted, before stepping into the crowd and catching Oscar Pascale by one arm. "Come on, I told you I'd help you with that stupid bullshit from class." 

Oscar laughed – he _had_ actually asked Ed for help, but it was clear he knew he was being used as an escape – and let himself be led away. Back on their hall, however, as they approached his room, Oscar pointed out, "You can't duck 'em forever, Ed." 

"Don't need to," Ed declared. "Left them with Mustang." 

Oscar snorted and shook his head. "No one's going to pester the brigadier general like they will you." 

Ed scoffed, because Mustang had been the one to tell him to leave, rather than making him stick around to manage the curious audience, and Ed would bet good money that the bastard was going to find a way to keep his peers from being disruptive, like they had been after the first spar. 

And if he didn't, well, Ed would just make him regret it during their next spar. 

-0-

As Ed had expected, Mustang had put a stopper on the majority of the questions he should have been hit with the next day. Ed wanted to feel victorious about that, but his squad was unusually quiet over breakfast, and it creeped him out more than a little. He caught Charlie Tugan on their way to lunch, eyeing where Taylor and Lois were walking behind all the other command candidates, and asked, "What did Mustang say?" 

Charlie shrugged. "You were taught martial arts outside the military, by your alchemy teacher, and he learnt what he knows in the academy. If anyone wants to be as good as you two, the best we can do is just keep practising every day. And, no, neither of you are going to play teacher, that's part of the academy's job." 

Ed frowned and glanced back at his squad members again. "And?" 

Charlie glanced back himself. "He held your squad back after he dismissed the rest of us," he explained. 

Ed nodded. "Right." Of course the bastard would use that demonstration to catch Ed's squad all in one place for some nefarious reason or another. "Thanks." 

Charlie clapped him on the shoulder. "Any time, Ed," he promised and left to drop his things at Squad C's table before going through the food queue. 

Ed spent lunch considering his squad, wondering if he wanted to know what Mustang had said to them. Or asked them. Or both. 

"It's not what you think," Nick said when the three command candidates met back up with the cadets after changing for outdoor training following lunch. 

Ed raised both eyebrows at him. "And what is it I think?" he asked, amused in spite of himself. 

Nick shrugged. "He just wanted to know about any problems with Parnall." 

Ed frowned at that, but he had to admit that he'd kind of expected Mustang to ask his squad about their interactions with the academy commander. He wished the bastard hadn't kicked him out of the discussion, even if he kind of understood the reasoning; Ed was the heart of their problems with Parnall, and not having him there meant his squad was more willing to mention his mistakes. 

"Stop looking sour," Lois called back at him from where she was leading their squad. "It's not like any of us villainised you, or anything." 

Ed clenched his jaw. Honestly, if anyone in his squad had taken him to task for his behaviour, he wouldn't hold it against them; it was his fucking fault they were in this mess to begin with. 

They came to a stop in the cleared space where they usually met Captain Siemans for outdoor training. Siemans wasn't there, though, and Ed wasn't the only one to glance across the field, trying to spot the man. 

The other squads had already got started by the time Squad A's instructor showed up, but it wasn't Siemans, and Ed was actually kind of freaked out by the way his squad crowded around him when they all spotted Parnall approaching, like they were trying to form a human wall to keep Ed and the academy commander apart. 

Parnall's expression was not kind as he came to parade rest in front of Ed's squad. "Captain Siemans is otherwise occupied," he commented mildly, and Ed really fucking hoped Siemans was safe. "Given the current interest in hand-to-hand combat, it was decided we'd accelerate the cadet's training some and show you a bit more. Flanders, step forward. You'll be my _assistant_."

The way he said 'assistant' made it clear he had no gentle intentions towards whoever played the part, and Rebecca Flanders swallowed before taking a step forward. 

Ed grabbed her shoulder to stop her and shoved firmly through his squad, anger burning like a live array through his body. "If you want to hit someone, _sir_ ," Ed snarled, "you can hit me." 

"Ed, _no_ ," someone tried. 

Parnall, though, looked like he'd just won a victory. "Thank you for volunteering, Elric. Get over here." As Ed stopped next to him, the man breathed, just loud enough for Ed to hear, "Duck or respond, and someone else will take your place." 

Ed stared him down, unimpressed and untouchable on the wave of his anger. He'd traded blows with two versions of Greed, Envy in his dragon form, Pride, Lan Fan, his teacher, and his brother; Parnall was the smallest of small fries, and Ed was far more willing to take a punch than he was to watch someone take it for him. 

The first hit was a solid punch to Ed's abdomen, which ached like fuck – so the arsehole could punch, good for him – but Ed absolutely refused to react to it, staring up at the colonel as he stepped back, something nasty in his dark eyes. 

It was a challenge to keep his expression flat, but Ed was fairly certain he managed it. That said, he couldn't do anything about whatever his eyes were showing, and given that Parnall's next punch was straight for his face, Ed would bet good money his eyes were as insubordinate as he wanted to be. 

He turned his head to take the hit on his cheek, rather than his nose – where Parnall was aiming – and when Parnall pulled back after another hard connect, Ed spat out the blood welling up from where his teeth had cut into his cheek upon impact, then turned back to Parnall, copper like a promise on his tongue. 

Before Parnall could throw a third punch, fire bloomed between them, and the colonel let out a terrified shout as he stumbled back from the line. 

Ed looked past Parnall, towards the closest door to the fort, and found Mustang standing there, one gloved hand extended, a figurative cloud of fury hovering over his head. Charlie stood just behind him, with Siemans, and a quick glance at the other two squads showed that they'd all stopped, had clearly been stopped for a while. Charlie had probably gone for Mustang before Parnall had thrown his first punch, because the other command candidates and cadets might not know exactly what Parnall was holding over Ed's head, but it was hard to miss the tension between them. 

"Fullmetal, infirmary, _now_ ," Mustang ordered, his voice somehow showing none of the anger his stance was practically screaming. 

Ed clenched his jaw against the insistence that he was fucking _fine_ , because this was so not the time to start beating heads with Mustang. So he gave a short nod and stepped over the line of burnt grass, past Parnall, and walked towards the door. 

As he made to walk past Mustang, the bastard caught his arm and quietly said, "Do _not_ make me hunt you down." 

In other words, 'Stay in the infirmary until I come to get you, you stubborn idiot.'

Ed huffed and pulled away from him, then continued his way into the building. And again, because this wasn't the time to go beating his head against Mustang's, he went to the infirmary and settled in to let the fort medic nursemaid him. 

His squad showed up before Mustang, dodging the medic's disapproving stare as they crowded around the bed that Ed was sitting in. They were a welcome distraction – outdoor training meant he didn't have any of his books with him, only had a single diamond, and the lighter in his pockets – even if they led with Rebecca informing him, "You are a complete _idiot_. What ever possessed you–?"

"I'm the one Parnall's got shit with," Ed interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest and glowering up at her. "He wants to punch someone, he can punch me." 

"You should have just gone for Mustang!" Stephan Felixstowe snapped. 

"I don't need that bastard to fight my battles for me," Ed insisted, trying to keep his voice quiet so the medic didn't start bitching at them. 

"What fight?" Lois demanded. "All we saw was you getting the snot beat out of you." 

"Oh, give me a break. He hit me _twice_. That is not–"

" _Hard_ ," Lois shot back. "He hit you fucking _hard_ , Ed. You _spat out blood_."

"My teeth cut my cheek," Ed replied, flipping a careless hand at her. "Please. That happens if someone startles me while I'm resting a cheek on my hand." 

"He was aiming for your nose," Taylor pointed out drily. "If you're so unconcerned, why'd you turn your head?" 

"Because broken noses _suck_."

Taylor pointed at Ed silently, as if to say, 'See? This is my point.'

Ed rolled his eyes. "So he was at just the right angle to break my nose if he'd connected. So what?" 

"As entertaining as watching people try to talk sense into Fullmetal is," Mustang's voice came from behind Ed's squad, all of whom tensed, "it's ultimately an act of futility, and I do believe you lot are supposed to be outside with Captain Siemans." 

"Sir!" Taylor answered for all of them, before leading the way from the infirmary. 

Ed was left with the medic, who was standing at attention, and Mustang, who was leaning back against the opened door, body language lazy, eyes burning with anger. "How is Major Elric?" he asked the medic, his tone mild. 

"Sir! He's got a small laceration inside his mouth, which had already stopped bleeding by the time he reached me, and will likely have a bruise on his abdomen and cheek, but is fit for duty." 

Mustang crooked his finger at Ed. "Come with me." 

Ed huffed and joined his CO in walking up to the offices. Mustang led him into an office that was much smaller than Parnall's and had signs of having been used as a storage room before being cleaned out to serve as a temporary office, judging by the filing cabinets lining one wall and the stacks of academy paperwork strewn across the table-turned-desk and one of the two guest chairs. (Although, given the bastard's usual abhorrence of paperwork, Ed could almost see it just being his office's normal state of being without Hawkeye there to threaten him, except he was about ninety percent certain that Mustang was a bit of a neat-freak; this place had to be driving him mad.)

Mustang motioned to the cleared guest chair and watched Ed settle into it with sharp eyes. Only after Ed was seated did he take his own seat, ordering, "Explain." 

Ed felt his jaw clench and forcefully pried it open. "Parnall came out, said Siemans was otherwise occupied, so he'd be our instructor for the day. Said some bullshit about the uptick of interest in hand-to-hand meaning they were gonna speed up the cadets' training in that, then told Rebecca – Cadet Flanders – to serve as his 'assistant'. I stopped her, told him if he wanted to hit someone, he could hit me, and he waved me up." 

"So you let him beat on you," Mustang said, the dryness of his tone belied by the absolute fury Ed could see in his eyes. 

Ed took a deep breath, then admitted, "He said that, if I did anything but take it, he'd have one of the others take my place." 

Mustang inclined his head in acknowledgement, then said, "You can't protect everyone every time, Fullmetal." 

Ed wrapped his hands tight around the arms of his chair, used that to ground himself, and snarled, "You think I don't know that?" Because he'd failed Nina, failed the people of Liore when Central City troops had forced the civil war he'd stopped, failed dozens of people who had refused his help when he'd held out a hand to them. 

"I think you want to believe you can," Mustang returned coolly, "and you're going to kill yourself one of these days because of it." 

Ed clenched his jaw and looked away because, yeah, that sounded about right. 

"Ed," Mustang said, and Ed couldn't help but glance back at him, attention caught by the nickname that the bastard had never used, "don't make me tell your brother he's alone in the world." 

That fell like one of Teacher's punches to Ed's gut. Because, _fuck_ , he couldn't do that to Al, couldn't leave him behind. And the idea of making Mustang deliver the news honestly _ached_ , because he knew the bastard actually fucking _cared_. 

Mustang leant forward, his posture saying he'd scented his victory. "The next time someone pulls rank on you and tells you to take a punch, _don't_. You are not a punching bag, and I would rather be forced to weather the fallout, than find out too late that they were concealing a knife." 

Ed grimaced at that, because he'd fought shitheads who were hiding knives before, had got damn good at blocking them with his automail arm, back when he _had_ an automail arm. "What if they outrank you?" he asked, because he wasn't going to fuck up Mustang's bid for the Führership because some major general decided he needed a split lip. 

Mustang caught his eye. "Then you cash in one of the favours Grumman owes you." 

Ed raised an eyebrow at that. Grumman owed him favours? 

Well, okay, now he thought about it, Grumman probably owed favours to everyone who had fought in Central on the Promised Day, given that he wouldn't have his current position without them, and Ed agreeing to play hunting dog to catch the Bradley supporters, rather than returning to Mustang's command, could be construed as another favour or ten (or however many of the fuckers he and his team managed to bring in). Never mind whatever Grumman owed Ed for actually agreeing to stick it out with the military and go through officer training; they could argue all day that Ed was only doing it because it helped Mustang, but the fact was that it helped Grumman just as much, with Mustang so clearly loyal to him. 

Taylor had asked him, once, how much pull Ed had with Grumman, and Ed had waved it off, but he actually had a lot, didn't he? And he was about to start racking up more. Favours that he could use on stupid shit, like the chance to punch some uppity general in the face, or–

Ed narrowed his eyes at Mustang, and he frowned at him. "Right," he said, didn't give voice to the idea growing in the back of his mind, his intention to take Hughes and Havoc's empty spaces and fucking _shove_ the bastard into the Führer's chair, no matter what it took. 

Mustang watched him for a beat, frowning like he had no idea where Ed's mind had just gone. (And maybe he didn't; he knew Ed was carrying Havoc's old lighter, knew that part of the reason he'd stayed on was to see the bastard to the top, but it's not like Ed had ever flat-out said he was going to step into the vacuum left by Hughes.) "Good," he said, before leaning back in his chair, letting his face blank. "The military police will be here by tonight to pick up Parnall; his very public attack did a lot to push your case through the gridlock the brass had caught it in–"

"Imagine that," Ed couldn't resist saying. 

Mustang shot him a sharp look. "Let's avoid such measures in future." 

Ed shrugged, refused to promise anything one way or the other, because if letting someone attack him in public again would force a case past whatever bureaucratic bullshit was holding it back, he'd do it. Though, sure, he could see the sense in not allowing his opponent to actually land a hit. 

Mustang sighed and picked up what looked to be the command candidates' schedule through the end of training. "In terms of classes and your duties following graduation, this is a good time to handle this," he said blandly. "You're not changing commands, and you're familiar with where you'll be serving, so you don't need to be taken on any tours of facilities or departments." He cast Ed a brief glance, one which said a lot more than his mocking addition of, "Though you might be served with a day in Intelligence, given how confused you've always been about my knowledge of your misdeeds." 

Ed knew Mustang's team had never had any official ties to Intelligence, but any command worth their salt, he was coming to learn, knew a few faces they could trust to pass on intel. For Mustang, that had been Hughes, then Major Armstrong, plus whatever Chris passed on. Now that Ed would be spending a lot of time hunting down leads, having his own connections in Intelligence – connections that were aware he was going to be using them; he already knew and trusted Armstrong and Sheska, but he hadn't spoken to either of them since he'd returned to Resembool – would serve him well, especially when augmented by Chris' own information network. 

"There is a good chance you'll be called in to defend your accusations in Parnall's tribunal," Mustang continued, and Ed clenched his jaw, because he'd half expected that, but it didn't mean he liked it. "I will be there the entire time." Which was irritatingly reassuring; what had Ed become, wanting Mustang at his back against opposition? "Do we need to discuss the necessity of respectful language and bearing while speaking to the generals and colonels that will be on the tribunal?" he finished drily. 

The familiar 'fuck you' was on the tip of his tongue, but Ed swallowed it down, straightened in his chair, and replied, "No, sir," without a hint of irony. 

Mustang raised an eyebrow at him, but kindly didn't comment, instead saying, "Good. Assume you'll be attending your day as usual, and I'll have Captain Siemans inform you during morning check if you'll be heading into Central instead." 

Ed nodded. "Is there a chance anyone in my squad will get called in?" he had to ask, because Parnall's beef may have been with him, but his squad had been dragged into it with him. 

Mustang sighed and set the paper he'd been holding back on his 'desk'. "The cadets won't, but Warrant Officers Bartel and Hansa may get called in, which I'll be informing them about." And then, because he knew Ed far too well, Mustang added, "Unless the tribunal calls you in on the same days, you will _not_ be going into Central with them." 

Ed's jaw was beginning to ache, between how much clenching he'd been doing and the faint reminder of Parnall's punch. 

Mustang sat forward, his eyes knowing. "Again, I will be there with them the entire time." 

"You're a bastard," Ed muttered in a failed attempt to hide how disgustingly reassuring that was. Ugh. Fucking Mustang. 

"So you've said," Mustang said by way of response, and Ed didn't need to see the flicker of amusement in his eyes to know the bastard was laughing at him. "I believe that's everything for the moment?" Ed shrugged and nodded. "Good. You're dismissed to rest in your room until dinner." 

Ed sighed. "Not an invalid," he insisted as he stood. 

"Be quiet and take your day off." 

Ed rolled his eyes and made for the door. As he touched the knob, though, something occurred to him and he turned back. "Mustang?" 

The man glanced up from where he'd turned his attention to some of the paperwork on his 'desk'. "Fullmetal?" 

"The sparring. Was that just to get my squad all in one place without me, or...?" Or what? Fuck, Ed wasn't even sure what he wanted to ask. 

But Mustang clearly got it, because he offered Ed a smile that should have felt weird – too familiar, too fond, too much like friendship – but really just felt _right_ , like the next step in their convoluted relationship, built on a foundation of mutual benefit – of respect and anger and struggling to survive. "If I'm here for dinner, I'm happy to spar with you," he said. 

Which, yeah, that had been what Ed had been asking, so he flashed Mustang a grin in response, as comfortable on his face as every grin he'd ever sent to one of the people he called a friend. "I'll see you tonight, then." 

Mustang sighed, and Ed rushed out of his office before the bastard could try ordering him to take fucking bedrest or whatever. 

-0-

Parnall's replacement showed up a couple days later, a Colonel Foster. He had that same booming voice that Parnall had managed – but he was a lot more easy-going, actually smiled for reasons beyond watching cadets suffer – and if he and Mustang had a history, it either wasn't a bad one, or he was professional enough to not let it show in his interactions with the bastard or Ed. 

Still, Ed had got in the habit of minding his smart retorts and using 'sir' with the fort officers, and he kept to that with Foster, if only for his squad's peace of mind. He also made a point to cut back on his insults towards Mustang, because while his squad and fellow command candidates might be used to it, and Mustang knew he didn't actually mean it (most of the time), there was no reason to make an enemy out of their new commander just because Ed couldn't resist the urge to call out his CO for being a smug bastard. 

Anyway, as Lois had pointed out, it was good practice for future interactions with the bastard when Ed actually _had_ to play the good soldier. ("Or, at least," Omar had added, most of their squad laughing, "as close to that as you'll ever manage.") 

He did get called in to stand across from Parnall during the tribunal twice, and Lois and Taylor got called in once together. Grumman had been the only one he'd known on the tribunal, but Mustang had described the others to him while they were on the train, so Ed had known who would be most likely to take his side. (Namely, Brigadier General Hashim, who was a quarter Ishvalan and didn't actively hate Mustang's guts; Brigadier General Lee, whose son idolised the Fullmetal Alchemist; Colonel Hotchkiss, who was the head of Central Intelligence and known to be protective of his subordinates; and Colonel Metford, who hadn't hidden her dislike of Bradley and his heavy hand while he was alive. The major general – Vickers – and the lieutenant general – Peabody – on the tribunal both had no love for Mustang, and he hadn't been able to guess whose side they'd fall on, given who Ed's commander was. And, fuck, he'd never realised how much trouble he'd have just because his CO tweaked a few noses once or twice and didn't shy away from dirty work if it meant a promotion.) 

The tribunal only took a week, and Parnall was sentenced to an extended stay in Central's prison. Mustang stayed on at the academy through the end of that partial week, then returned to his leave in the city, leaving Ed on his own for his last week of training. Which, well, it was nice, on one hand, to no longer have the bastard looking over his shoulder, but it didn't take long for him to start missing the regular sparring matches, and the punching bag took the brunt of his irritation. 

Ed's whole class of command candidates passed, much to most of their relief. During their celebration lunch – the last meal they'd be sharing with their squads or each other before taking the evening train back to Central and catching trains from there to their postings – Nick jokingly told Ed, Taylor, and Lois, "Save spaces for us as your subordinates, yeah?" 

Taylor and Lois had both laughed and nodded, but Ed put on his best apologetic expression and reached across the table to pat Nick's hand. "You don't want on my team," he told him as seriously as he could. 

Nick snorted. "Who wouldn't want to team up with the Fullmetal Alchemist?" he said, and the others laughed and made noises of agreement. 

Ed sighed and said, "You realise I'm going to be spending most of my time on trains." 

Nick recoiled, horror bleeding across his features. "Ah." He swallowed a couple of times while Ed patted his hand in understanding and a couple members of their squad snickered. "Right. Yeah. You keep that team to yourself, then." 

Lois snorted and nudged Ed's right leg with hers under the table. "Back to business as usual for you, then, huh?" 

"I'd have thought you'd end up out in Ishval with Mustang," Taylor added. 

Ed shrugged. "Me too, but old man Grumman decided he'd rather send me west, and Mustang agreed." He snorted and rolled his eyes, before drily adding, "Guess the bastard doesn't wanna chance me around all those new buildings they've got out there." 

They all laughed, every one of them having heard Mustang, on more than one occasion, gripe about Ed's tendency to bring down buildings. It gave a rather neat explanation for why he wasn't following his CO back east, without suggesting things were at all unstable in Ishval – which they weren't, from what Hawkeye had been passing on, according to Mustang; they'd even got the okay from the council to extend the train line from Resembool to the site where they currently had the military outpost set up, about ten minutes' walk to the main city, once the rebuilding was done – or that he had anything more covert he was working on. Which, well, he _was_ working on something more covert, not to mention dangerous and the sort of assignment that required split-second decisions that he wasn't sure he'd trust anyone who hadn't suffered through command training and had literally had to fight for their lives to make. (Darius and Heinkel, he'd found after some snooping through their files, which Grumman had slipped to him while he was in Central during the tribunal, had gone through an abbreviated command training with Jerso and Zampano, just enough that they could say they had earned their rank and had the authorisation to make life-or-death decisions on the battlefield when separated from their CO. Ed fully intended to tell them they were both cheats as soon as he met back up with them.) 

"So, you're going west, huh?" Taylor said. "You gonna go all the way back to Central, or just get off at the connecting line and take the next train out, like Keith and Oscar have been saying?" 

Ed shook his head. "Nah. I promised I'd drop by and see Elicia one more time before I left, so I'm going back into Central." Not to mention the paperwork he needed to drop by Grumman's office, and dropping by Madame Christmas for anything Chris had collected in the past week. 

Lois perked up. "Oh, hey! Can I come meet her? We're going to be just missing the next train out to East City, so I'm stuck in Central for a couple days." 

"Only if you promise to introduce me properly to Brittany next time I'm in East," he returned with a grin, because he'd heard enough about Lois' girlfriend that he felt like he actually knew her better than the handful of times they'd spoken when he'd walked through the hospital and seen her at the reception desk, which was a sort of weird feeling. (One he was starting to get used to, in truth; he'd never spent so much time with people who were willing to talk ad nauseam about absent family and friends. At least with Lois' girlfriend he had an actual person to put with her name, but the rest of them were just blank slates in his mind, coloured in with the stories and perceptions of the person who spoke of them or the rare photo one of them had pulled out of their belongings.) 

"I can do that. Maybe I'll introduce you to Phil, too," she added, referring to her younger brother, who was a sergeant in East City. Then she turned to Taylor. 

Taylor held up his hands. "No," he insisted, and Ed wasn't the only one to start laughing. "First off, _no_ , stay away from my family. Second off, I'm not even going through Central; it's faster to wait in Gamitz for the outer ring line than going through Central and hoped I make both connections." 

"Don't you have a cousin in East?" Omar helpfully pointed out. 

"Not in the city. None of my family lives in a capital," Taylor was quick to remind them. 

Lois flashed him a smile that would have made Ed worried, had he been on the receiving end. "Maybe I'll get lucky and end up on an inspection team. Your cousin's in New Optain, right?" 

Taylor just sighed and covered his face. 

Ed nudged Lois' leg with his own, then offered, "Hey, Taylor, I promise not to go hunting down any of your family." 

"You're going _west_ ," Taylor reminded him. 

Ed grinned. "Yeah, but my mechanic's in Rush Valley. You've got cousins there, right?" 

Taylor groaned and shot Ed a disgusted look. "You know, I'm beginning to understand why you're always calling superiors names. _Sir_."

Ed laughed. "If it makes you feel any better, I make it a habit to avoid my mechanic whenever possible." 

Taylor shook his head. "No. No, I do not feel better, because I have _heard_ how hard military service can be on automail and I _know you_."

"I give him a month," Greg Gabardini was quick to offer. 

"I was gonna say a week," Ben Grahame shot back, with a look that promised he was looking to start something with Greg. 

"You're both being generous," Rebecca Flanders cut in, before the guys could get started, "I bet he'll break something the same day he gets off the train." 

"Anyone got paper?" Omar Hotspur asked, and both Evan Beardmore and Lisa Coanda pulled one out, then caught each other's eyes and gave slightly nervous laughs. 

Ed sighed; he never should have told the cadets that betting was a military pastime. 

Lois knocked his leg with hers, and when he glanced across at her, he found her grinning. "If you're lucky, they'll never find out when you break it?" 

"I hate you," Ed insisted, and Lois fucking _cackled_.

-0-

Only about half of the newly minted officers returned to Central, with Oscar, Keith, and Taylor all waiting for the next loop train heading in the right direction. Since Ed didn't really get on with Lawrence Wackett – they'd agreed to disagree about Bradley, and Ed promised he wouldn't punch Wackett again so long as he kept his praising to himself – he and Lois settled in on one side of the aisle, while Wackett sat with Charlie Tugan on the other, and their two pairs mostly kept to themselves, despite being the only passengers in military blue. 

"I think the first thing I'm going to do when we get in at Central, is hunt down a hotel and change," Lois muttered as yet another civilian passenger looked at them uncertainly as they passed on their way to the toilet or food car or wherever. 

Ed shrugged. "I can show you the hotel I always use when I'm in Central, if you want." 

Lois nodded. "Yeah, that would be awesome. And then I can meet your sister?" 

Ed snorted, amused. "At least let me _ring_ them before we drop by," he insisted, and she let out a slightly nervous laugh. He shook his head, then admitted, "I need to drop past Command before I visit them, anyway. I can call from the hotel, and if Gracia is okay with visitors tonight, we can meet up at the park over by their place once I'm done." 

Lois frowned at him. "You have to drop by Command? But I thought you already had your assignment." 

Ed shrugged. "Well, yeah, but I have some paperwork to drop by Grumman's office." And the man had asked Ed to stop by, probably just in case he had any updates, but he wasn't going to mention that. 

Lois' expression went flat. "You've been in training for three months, Ed. What paperwork could you _possibly_ have that you need to drop first thing?" 

Ed grimaced. "Uh, the personnel files of my team?" 

"The personnel files that aren't supposed to leave whatever command building they're filed in?" 

"I liked you better when you didn't cite regulation at me." 

Lois snorted and threw her hands up in a sign of surrender. "I don't know why I'm surprised," she admitted before shaking her head, expression turning slightly impressed. "Though, seriously, when did you even get them? Someone would have noticed if they'd been missing for three months." 

Ed shrugged. "I could have transmuted copies," he pointed out, and Lois squeezed her eyes shut. "But I _didn't_. Old man Grumman let me take them out when I asked after them during the tribunal. Which is why I'm dropping them back off with him, rather than sneaking them back into the personnel room under cover of darkness or however Stephan's stupid mystery novels put it." 

Lois snorted again. "If I never have to sit through him sharing another 'favourite scene' over dinner again, it'll be too soon," she muttered and Ed laughed. "Please, _please_ , don't let him be posted to East City." 

"I'll let Führer Grumman know that, come May, he should send Private Felixstowe to East City," Ed promised in his best commanding officer voice. 

Lois threw a pen at him. 

Ed snorted and tossed it back to her. "No, but seriously, I hope old man Grumman sends him up west, so he's not too far from his sisters." He'd actually, as soon as he'd heard about Stephan's parents dying as a result of the Nationwide Transmutation Circle, sent off a note to Grumman that he should post Stephan as close to his three younger sisters as he could, once he'd graduated the academy, because it wasn't fair to any of them that he had to sell his soul to the military just so they could keep food on the table. Ed had been there, and he would fucking cash in one of his favours if that's what it took to keep Stephan close to what remained of his family. (Not that he'd ever tell Stephan he was doing that, just like he'd never tell Nick that he'd done the same thing for him. Just like he'd be willing to silently pull what strings he could to get _any_ of his squad posted close to their families, though only Nick and Stephan were main or sole providers.) 

Lois sighed and turned to look out at the countryside, turning her pen between her fingers. "Me too," she admitted. "Hell, if he does get posted somewhere else, I'll put in a transfer out west, keep an eye on those kids for him." 

Ed couldn't resist a snort. "Kids," he repeated. "You realise the eldest of his sisters is the same age as me, right?" 

Lois shot him a vaguely surprised look. "Shit, you're right." She closed her eyes and shook her head, letting out a faint huff of amusement. "God, I always forget how young you are." 

Ed grimaced and took his turn at staring out the window at the passing countryside; in truth, he wasn't actually old enough to apply for military service, not under Grumman's laws that set the cut-off at eighteen. Which, well, the cut-off had _always_ been eighteen, but there had been a stipulation, under Bradley, that young men and women from military families could attend the academy as young as fifteen. With the intention that they would go through command training at eighteen, fast-tracking them to the positions that their parents would have expected of them. Even the State Alchemist program had received a much-needed age requirement, to keep any other twelve-year-old geniuses from applying. 

Ed was unique. Grumman had said it three months ago, and it hadn't really occurred to Ed, then, how much of a risk this move was, because only time would tell how being the only under-eighteen officer in Amestris' history would work out. But, too, Grumman had been right: Any other soldier who'd suffered through _half_ of the shit that had gone down in Central during the Promised Day (not to mention finding out about it in advance and being part of the rebellion from day one) would have – _had_ , Ed knew from checking the records – been given a promotion, and if the People's Alchemist got overlooked on account of his age, Grumman would have had a riot on his hands. Fuck, the only reason Ed was only a minor source of slander, was that most people seemed to assume he'd quit the military, what with his long leave. (Well, too, the lack of his trademark red coat made him stand out far less in a crowd; without it, he was just another blond kid with a rude attitude.) 

Ed frowned, his mind sliding down a related track: Was there a way he could show he was supporting Grumman and Mustang? Some way to punch a hole through every comment about how 'if Grumman's really that great, why isn't the Fullmetal Alchemist standing behind him'? Because at least one of the articles Chris had sent with his post every week would make that argument. 

"Okay, see, that is not a good look," Lois interrupted his ponderings, and Ed glanced over at her, a part of him still distracted with his line of thought. "That is the look that comes before a Bradley rant." 

Ed surprised himself with a snort. "Not this time," he promised. 

Lois widened her eyes at him in an obvious bid for an explanation. "You mean there's something other than Bradley that makes you look like you want to kill something? Warn me now so I don't accidentally set you off in future." 

"You're hilarious," Ed muttered, before sighing and slumping in his seat. "It's just, they don't do it often, but I really hate the way the papers keep going on about how my being quiet in regards to the military means I don't support Grumman. I mean, what does it even fucking matter what I think?" 

Lois frowned, eyes going to one side in that way they did when she was puzzling through something. "Well, I mean, you're sort of a big deal. Or you were, before you went to ground, what, almost two years ago, now?" She shrugged and offered him a helpless look. "Hell, most of the public don't even know whose side you were fighting on a year ago, just that you'd been wounded during that mess in Central." 

Ed sighed. "Yeah, I know. I just wish there was some sort of way to get it out there _now_ that I'm sticking with Grumman, rather than waiting for it to filter down like usual." 

Lois straightened. "But you can," she insisted, and Ed frowned at her. "You can do an interview. On the radio, like how Mrs Bradley and Brigadier General Mustang's people did, remember?" 

Ed blinked. He hadn't heard about the radio broadcast until after it was over, but he'd also heard that it had reached people all over the country, and Gracia had said that it had probably saved a lot of lives in Central, because they'd told people to stay indoors, where they'd have some protection from bullets that missed their mark. "I could, couldn't I?" he murmured. 

"You thinking to do a radio interview, Ed?" Charlie called across the aisle, and Ed glanced over to find him looking even more serious than usual. "Better check with the Führer first, make sure you're not going to get in trouble." 

"Ooh, yeah. You don't want to say anything that might be state secrets or whatever," Lois agreed. 

Wackett scoffed. "I'd be more worried about Elric insulting the wrong people." 

"Shut up, Second Lieutenant," Ed ordered, and it was _really fucking nice_ to be able to do that. (Not that he couldn't have before – he'd always outranked Wackett, technically – but now they weren't at the academy, where they all had the same effective rank of command candidate, it was guaranteed that he had to listen.) 

Wackett scowled at him, but obediently kept any further commentary to himself. 

"I'm sure the Führer has a speech writer who can help you make up a safe statement," Charlie offered. 

Ed grimaced. "Really? You can actually see me following some pre-written script?" 

Lois started laughing, while Wackett turned to face the window on his side, as if Ed couldn't see his smirk in the reflection. 

Charlie sighed. "Notes, at least? A list of topics you can touch on?" 

"Words you're not allowed to say on the radio?" Lois added, laughter still in her voice. 

Ed huffed. "You know, I _am_ capable of watching my language." 

The looks the other three sent him made it clear they didn't believe him, not even a little. 

Ed slouched back down in his bench. "Traitors, all of you." 

Lois rolled her eyes and reached out with her foot to shove his right knee. "You're going by the Führer's office anyway, right? Might as well bring it up with him. If nothing else, at least he'll have the connections to set things up so you're not cooling your heels in Central for a week, waiting for one of the stations to call you back." 

Wackett barked a laugh. "Give it up, Hansa. We all know the Central stations will be fighting each other for the chance to interview the _Fullmetal Alchemist_."

"Yeah, I'm with Ed: shut up, Wackett," Lois snapped. 

Ed snorted and turned back towards the window, picking out the familiar signs of the outer edges of Central. "I'll ask old man Grumman," he agreed, before warning, "We'll be there in another ten minutes," and putting an end to any further conversation.

.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a note, trying to actually figure out how large Amestris is (aka, how long it would take to drive anywhere) is pretty much a guaranteed formula to bring me, at least, to tears. So, you know, I'm fudging this shit the whole way and _don't fucking judge me_. (Don't even get me started on figuring out max car speeds and, holy shit, train lines are just nightmares. Everything is bullshit.)

He and Lois ended up across the hall from each other at his preferred hotel, and Ed stopped off long enough to drop his suitcase on the bed, withdrawing the folder with the files he needed to take to Command, then took over the phone in the lobby and rang Gracia. "Hey, it's Ed." 

_"You're back in Central?"_

"Yeah. I've gotta run by Command for a bit, but I can come over after that." 

_"Elicia will be so happy,"_ Gracia said, smile obvious in her voice. _"She's got both of her favourite military men home."_

Ed blinked. Both? "Mustang's still in town? I though his leave was over." 

_"Well, the Führer apparently granted him an extra few days as an apology for forcing him back to work."_

"Huh." Well, it's not like he hadn't known Grumman was no Bradley. "Go figure. Well, one of my friends from training is in town until the next train east. I keep mentioning Elicia to her–" Gracia laughed "–and so she wants to meet her. Said I'd check about maybe dinner, but if Mustang's around..." 

_"Give me a moment,"_ Gracia offered, before muffling the phone and calling out to – Ed would bet – Mustang. The bastard's tone, when he responded, sounded positive, so Ed wasn't surprised when Gracia came back with, _"Roy doesn't mind your friend joining us for dinner, if she's okay with eating with him."_

"Hah, yeah. I'll run it by her on my way out. Either way, I'm absolutely coming over tonight. Gotta get my tea parties in before I have to head west." 

Gracia laughed quietly. _"Of course. We'll see you in a few hours, then."_

"Yeah." Ed hung up with a grin, and turned to find Lois seated in one of the chairs in the lobby, still in her uniform. "I thought you were changing," he called as he started over towards her. 

Lois shrugged as she stood. "Realised I'm not comfortable enough navigating Central on my own, so I'll just come with you to Command, if that's okay?" She cast him a faintly uncertain look, before quickly adding, "And if it's not okay for me to eat over with your family, I can find somewhere else on the way back to the hotel." 

Ed waved a hand at her. "Gracia's fine with it," he promised, before motioning for them to head outside, where the busy streets would cover him adding, "Mustang's gonna be there, though, if you're not comfortable eating over with him." 

Lois blinked a few times. "Your CO is eating dinner over with your kinda-sorta sister and her mum?" 

Ed grimaced and shoved the hand that wasn't holding his paperwork into his pocket. "Yeah. They're kind of his family, too. Brigadier General Hughes was his best friend." 

Lois took a moment to consider that before she cast Ed a speculative look. "Wait, does that mean he was at Elicia's birthday party?" Ed nodded, grinning at the memory. "Did he have to wear one of those crowns?" Because Ed had shown some of his pictures around to his squad and the other command candidates, including one of his own crown. (And had then endured some gentle ribbing for the fact that he actually wore the thing, though they all did seem to understand that there was no refusing younger sisters.) 

Ed's grin widened. "I had to take those pictures out of the stack," he admitted and she laughed. "He's actually the one that made mine." 

Lois shook her head. "Yeah, sure, I'll take a chance and share dinner with the brigadier general. Which is just...so many kinds of weird." 

Ed snorted. "I know." 

They were still alternately breaking out into half-disbelieving snickers when they were waved through the main gate and started up the stairs. The climb managed to calm them both down, though, and they started across the parade grounds in a far more professional manner. 

"You can wait for me out here, or come up and wait in the outer office," Ed offered as they approached the stairs up to the balcony and the front doors. 

Lois glanced around at the groups of men and women in military blue, most of them heading home at the end of the day, and shook her head. "I'll come up, if it's all the same; not sure how people react to loitering around here." 

Ed snorted. "Stand on the balcony and look like you're angry because someone's making you wait," he suggested. "Everyone leaves you alone, then." 

"You mean everyone leaves _you_ alone, Mr Youngest State Alchemist," Lois retorted. "I'll take my chances in the Führer's office." 

Ed shrugged and led the way up to Grumman's office, knocking on the open outer office door before poking his head in and looking towards the secretary's desk. "Hey, is the Führer in?" he requested when the woman sitting there glanced up at him. 

She frowned and looked down at an open book on her desk. "I believe so. Did you have an appointment?" 

"Nah, but he's probably expecting me," Ed admitted, stepping fully into the office. 

The secretary looked back up at him and opened her mouth, but then her eyes caught on his shoulder and she straightened, throwing him a salute. "Lieutenant Colonel, sir!" 

Ed sighed while Lois started snickering behind him. "Please don't," he pleaded. "I hate saluting." 

Grumman's obnoxious laugh preceded him out of his office. "Lieutenant Colonel Elric," he offered by way of greeting, before his eyes slid past Ed to Lois. "And Second Lieutenant Hansa." 

"Führer, sir!" Lois said as she saluted. 

Ed closed his eyes and rubbed at them. "I hate the military," he muttered, before dropping his hand and starting across the office towards the Führer as the man returned Lois' salute. "You wanted me?" he asked the bastard. 

Grumman chuckled and motioned for Ed to step into his office. "Have a seat, Second Lieutenant," he told Lois before following Ed in, closing the door behind himself. "Please, make yourself comfortable, Lieutenant Colonel," he added with obvious humour as he started around his ridiculously-large desk. 

Ed snorted at him from where he was already sitting and opened his folder, pulling out files and setting them on a cleared space on Grumman's desk as he announced them: "Darius and Heinkel's files, the paperwork to end their leave, notes from them requesting I make the change on their behalf, and my report covering everything so far." He closed the folder as Grumman reached across his desk and picked up the report he'd requested Ed write up as a formal record of the investigation so far. 

"Your handwriting seems to have improved," Grumman remarked, glancing over the page at him. 

Ed shrugged. "I'm right-handed; learning to write legibly with my left hand was never a priority." Also, not that he was going to say so, but he knew his poor handwriting was a source of irritation for Mustang, and since annoying the ever-loving fuck out of the bastard was one of his few joys in life, as a kid...)

Grumman nodded at that, then leant over and opened one of the drawers of his desk. He pulled out a sheet of paper, then handed it across to Ed. "Your official orders," he said as Ed accepted the page. "Until the completion of this mission, all reports are to be passed only through secure channels to those who need to know." 

So, Chris and Grumman. 

Ed narrowed his eyes. "Mustang asked me to keep him informed." Because Ed was going to keep his CO in the loop no matter what – Marie had been game to act as message deliverer – but doing so without Grumman's knowledge was just asking for a mess. 

Grumman frowned. "Secure channels, Lieutenant Colonel." 

"Yes, sir." Ed lifted his chin and met Grumman's stare head-on. 

Grumman nodded after a moment. "Your team will be the ones suffering the consequences if you fuck up," he warned him, and Ed clenched his jaw. "Very well." Then he sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I should know better than to question your loyalty." 

Ed bit back the 'you really fucking _should_ ' that was on the tip of his tongue, instead slipping his orders – lines of black hiding the pertinent details and marking the mission as top secret – away in his folder and saying, "I was complaining, on the train, about how long it's going to take for people to be aware that I'm back with the military, and Lois suggested I do a radio interview before I head out." 

Grumman raised his eyebrows at that, clearly surprised. "It's not a bad suggestion," he admitted, "but I'm not certain why you care. I thought you hated the attention." 

Ed huffed and folded the folder in half, uncaring about the official paperwork inside. "I do," he replied, "but I'm really fucking _sick_ of seeing my name being used as a sort of 'oh, if the Fullmetal Alchemist isn't with the military, why should anyone be' bullshit. I get it, right? I'm the military's fucking show pony; I put on a pretty smile and your popularity ratings go up." He shoved the folder into the inner pocket of his jacket. "Anyway, if they're talking about my talking you up, they're not wondering what I'm doing out west." 

"They'll still be talking about you being out west," Grumman murmured, "once you start bringing down buildings." 

"Shut up. Seriously, what the fuck is up with you and Mustang about these buildings? I put them back!" 

"Mostly." 

Ed scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine, so they'll be talking about me _in_ the west, but the big news everywhere else will be that I'm coming out on your side, right? Got a promotion after a super extended leave, you're doing right by the People's Alchemist, I'm wholly behind the Ishval rebuilding–"

Grumman let out a sort of 'ah-ha' noise, like he'd just been waiting for Ed to mention how Mustang fit into this. 

"–and whatever other shit you've got going on. Extending train lines, beefing up the hospitals, cutting back on weapons development, all that shit." 

Grumman let out a vaguely amused sound. "And here I thought the Central Times didn't deliver to Fort Forsthaus." 

"Fuck off. I did the months out of the loop down in Resembool; this is my country too, and I'm fucking _done_ with sitting on my hands and watching it go to shit. Okay?" 

Grumman was smiling, that same sort of gleam of approval that he'd seen in Mustang's eyes when he'd agreed to report Parnall in the Führer's eyes. And it didn't leave him feeling quite so warm as Mustang's approval had done, but there was definitely a sort of sense of positive reinforcement going on, which was _shit_ ; why should Ed even _care_ if the two bastards approved of his actions? _Fuck_.

"We'll have to get some facts straight," Grumman commented, "and you're going to have to follow some rules about giving a public statement on the military's behalf." 

Ed scowled. "Fine. But I'm not reading off a fucking script; no one's gonna believe shit if I come off sounding practiced." 

Grumman let out an amused sound. "You wouldn't stick to a script, anyway," he allowed before pulling out some blank stationary and a pen. 

Ed sighed and slumped in his seat. "Yeah, fine. Gracia isn't expecting us for a while yet, anyway." 

Grumman's responding smile made the hair on the back of Ed's neck stand on end; what the fuck had he just signed himself up for? 

-0-

"Are you okay, Big Brother?" Elicia asked. 

Ed glanced down at her, then back up at the radio station they were standing outside of. "I'm insane," he decided. 

Gracia laughed quietly behind him and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You'll be fine, Ed." 

Ed shook his head, took a fortifying breath, then led the way in; when he'd announced over dinner that he'd be on the radio, Elicia had been insistent that she come too, and while he sort of would have preferred to keep her well out of it – the last thing he wanted was for someone to mark the Hugheses as possible leverage against him – he was actually kind of glad that they'd come with to support him. Especially since Mustang had pointed out that him bringing any member of the military with would sort of defeat the point of playing up the People's Alchemist angle. (The bastard. It wasn't like Ed wanted him to tag along, anyway.) 

He gave his name to the woman manning the front desk and, after receiving a wide, slightly awe-struck smile, they were led up to the recording room and introduced to the interviewer, Bob Siegel. 

"Great to meet you, Mr Elric," the man said as he shook Ed's hand. 

"Ed, please." 

The man grinned at him. "Bob," he returned with a wink, and Ed couldn't help an amused snort. "And who are these two lovely ladies?" he asked, turning to the Hugheses. 

"This is Gracia Hughes and her daughter, Elicia. Practically family." 

Elicia gave a vigorous nod and offered up her hand for a shake, which Bob took with a kind laugh. "Mama and me came to cheer Big Brother Ed on because Uncle Roy said he couldn't," she informed him seriously. 

"There goes that secret," Gracia said with a laugh, as if they hadn't all been aware that someone would connect their last name and Mustang's friendship with Hughes. When Bob shot Ed and her a curious look, she offered, "Brigadier General Mustang was my late husband's best friend." 

"Ah." Bob nodded in understanding before looking back down at Elicia. "Well, Miss Elicia, it's quite good of you, coming to cheer your big brother on. You'll have to stay out here with your mum while Ed and I are in the sound booth, I'm afraid, and we won't be able to hear you, but we'll make it so you can listen in, and we'll be able to see each other. How's that?" 

Elicia gave that due consideration before offering a slow nod. "Will have to do," she decided, before turning to Ed and holding up her arms. "Lucky hug!" she ordered. 

Ed laughed and obediently picked her up, then turned to Bob. "It's not quite time yet, I don't think?" 

"Not quite," Bob agreed, "but I do have some off-air prep questions for you." Ed nodded in understanding, as both Grumman and Mustang had told him to get there early so they could go over some things before their scheduled time slot. "Now, since this request came from the Führer's office, should I take that to mean you remained with the military?" 

"It didn't say in the request?" Ed asked, frowning. 

Bob shook his head. "All I was told this morning was that the Fullmetal Alchemist was coming in for an interview. I never actually saw the official paperwork." 

"Ah. Then, yes, to answer your question: I'm still with the military and I've been promoted to Lieutenant Colonel." 

Bob's eyes widened. "Right, sorry. Should have greeted you as _Lieutenant Colonel_ Elric, then." 

Ed sighed. "Technically," he admitted, "but I don't actually care." 

Bob laughed at that, and Ed hadn't realised the man's shoulders had tensed until they'd relaxed. "Still not a military man?" 

Elicia giggled and shook her head. "Nu-uh. Big Brother says the military are a bunch of poo-heads." 

"Oh dear," Gracia said as Ed snorted and Bob laughed again. "Come here, Elicia." 

Ed kissed Elicia's cheek, then handed her off to her mother. "Just please don't call your Uncle Roy that," he requested of her. "He might actually go through with that threat to make me inspect the moat for imperfections." 

Elicia's responding giggle made it clear that Mustang would be called a 'poo-head' sometime in the near future; Ed couldn't even pretend he'd regret it. 

Bob glanced towards the clock hanging on the wall. "Right, we've got a few more minutes. People – especially those in the military – usually have topics that I'm not allowed to ask about. Do you have any?" 

Ed grimaced and nodded. "Yeah. I'm afraid I can't say anything about my current assignment, so if we can just avoid all mention of that, it would be awesome." 

Bob gave a slow nod. "Fair enough. Anything else?" 

Ed shrugged. "If I can't or won't answer something, I'm not afraid of saying so on the air." 

"Right. Let me get my sound guy in here, then, and we can go in." 

Bob poked his head out of the room and motioned to someone out in the hall, and a man wearing a personal radio on his belt and headphones that were skewed on his head came in directly with two pitchers of water and four cups. One pitcher and two cups were handed to Bob, who motioned for Ed to join him in the sound booth, before the man turned to making the Hugheses comfortable. 

"He'll get the sound on for them and let us know when we're on air," Bob promised as the door hissed closed behind them. "Please have a seat." 

"Ah, thanks." Ed settled carefully in the chair he'd been motioned towards and accepted the glass Bob passed him after he'd filled it. He could see Elicia and Gracia if he turned his head, and he felt a smile tugging at his mouth as he watched Elicia chatter at the two adults in the outer room with her. 

The pitcher was left in easy reach for both of them and Bob sat down. "Nervous?" he asked. 

Ed grimaced and shrugged. "Usually," he offered, and the words came out dry, "I solve issues with alchemy. Or punching them. This–" he motioned to the room around them "–is more old man Grumman or Mustang's thing than mine." 

Bob tilted his head to the side. "If I may ask, why _are_ you here?" 

Ed looked out at Elicia and Gracia. "Because I can't sit back and watch Amestris fall apart. Not again." 

Bob was quiet for a long moment, until his man in the outer room held up a hand, two fingers extended. "Right, two minutes," he warned, straightening. "If you've got notes or anything–" He stopped as Ed pulled out the notecards he'd been given by Grumman, which Lois had helpfully added to, as evidenced by the one on the top of the stack, which said _'NO F-WORDS'_. Bob snorted. "Well then." 

Ed shook his head. "I have a friend who thinks she's helpful." 

Bob chuckled, turning to watch as his man outside put down a finger. "It's not a bad suggestion," he pointed out, and Ed snorted as he separated the cards into two piles: one of Lois' helpful reminders about not cursing and using people's titles and the such, the other of the notes he'd need to help keep to the official story surrounding the events of the Promised Day, should that come up. "Right, I'm going to introduce you first, so keep quiet until I've cued you," Bob ordered as his man started counting down on his fingers. 

"Got it." Ed glanced past the sound guy and smiled at Elicia, who immediately started waving at him. Gracia laughed beside her before trying to get her to settle down. 

"You're listening to Radio Capital," Bob started, and Ed turned back to him, "your number one channel for news from Central City! I'm your host, Bob Siegel, and I have with me a most auspicious guest–" Ed grimaced "–this afternoon, known best by his military-given title, the Fullmetal Alchemist: Lieutenant Colonel Edward Elric." He turned his gaze on Ed. "So, Ed, big promotion; how does that feel?" 

Ed snorted. "Remarkably like I'm still a normal State Alchemist, except more people have to listen when I tell them to shut their traps." 

Bob laughed at that. "I'm sure that's come in handy." 

"Once or twice. I haven't had it very long, you realise." 

Bob folded his fingers together on the table in front of him. "So, correct me if I'm wrong, but don't State Alchemists need to go through command training to be given any rank above major?" 

"Don't remind me," Ed muttered and Bob's mouth kicked up on one side before he unfolded his hands and motioned for him to expound on that. Ed sighed. "Yeah, command training was a thing. We graduated a couple days ago and it was– Okay. Tedious. Lots of trying to get you to salute ranking officers and figure out that whole 'yes, sir' and 'no, sir' nonsense." 

Bob choked out a startled laugh. "How's that working out for you?" 

"Still haven't quite figured out the saluting," Ed admitted, "but I've sorted out the 'sir's. I think." 

"You think," Bob repeated, looking way too amused. 

Ed shrugged. "Sometimes I forget and substitute something else. Which, ah, I'm not allowed to say on the air, so–" He coughed and shook his head. "One of the cadets in my squad referred to it as his 'favourite of my court-martial worthy ticks'." 

"You might want to work on that," Bob suggested. 

"Tell me about it." 

Bob shook his head and very clearly shifted tracks. "So, I thought command training was only three months, but it's been almost a year since the last we heard anything from you, and that was that you were in hospital. What happened there?" 

Ed shrugged. "Both my brother, Al, and I got wounded during the events in Central, and Al had a long recovery ahead of him. Old ma– sorry, _Führer_ Grumman dropped by the second week we were in hospital and asked if I wanted to stick with the military. I said yeah, sure, but Al had to come first, right? So Grumman gave me a year's worth of leave to see Al back on his feet, and gave me the option of taking a promotion or sticking to my original commission, which I had until my leave was up to decide." 

Bob blinked a few times. "Well, that was..." 

Ed flashed him a knowing smile. "Not at all how the media is painting him?" he suggested, and Bob grimaced. "Yeah, sorry, I actually like our Führer. Even if I do want to punch him in the face every time he laughs." 

Bob blinked at him, then glanced down at Ed's line of notecards from Lois. "I feel like I should point out that you have a notecard you're disregarding," he commented, and, as Ed glanced down at them, continued, "One of the lieutenant colonel's friends sent him in with a few reminders." 

Ed picked up the card that said _'DO NOT INSULT ANY OF YOUR COMMANDING OFFICERS'_. "Is it really an insult if I say I _want_ to punch him in the face?" he asked. "I mean, if you think about it, I'm really just stabbing myself in the foot, here, because the next time I see him he's just going to start laughing at me." 

"Is that–" Bob coughed, as though that would hide his amusement. "I'm sorry. Is this a common problem for you?" 

"Which one: The urge to punch my commanding officers? Or my commanding officers getting me back for my being difficult by driving me insane?" 

"I'm going to take that as a yes on both fronts." 

"Good plan." 

Bob shook his head. "So, his laughter aside, you like Führer Grumman?" 

Ed straightened, and settled himself into a more serious mind-set. "When I first joined the military, before 'the Fullmetal Alchemist' became synonymous with 'the People's Alchemist', showing people – both members of the military and civilians – my pocket watch, immediately painted me, in their minds, as a sort of greedy little sh– sorry, ah, kid, who had way too much power and didn't care for anyone other than himself. Which, yeah, okay, I'll give you the having too much power part, but it was the _not caring_ part that people always got hung up on. 

"See, here's the thing: People see the military as this giant war machine made up of jerks who just want an excuse to hurt people. And, yeah, there are people like that in the military, sure, and we had a _huge_ number of them sitting at the top when Bradley was in charge, as evidenced by everything that went down last year, but wearing Amestris-blue doesn't automatically turn you into some power-hungry murderer; I'd like to think I'm proof enough of that, if nothing else." 

"But you've never worn the uniform before," Bob pointed out. 

Ed shook his head. "Not until January," he agreed, "but the State Alchemist pocket watch has the same connotations, and I've been carrying one of those since I was twelve." He sighed. "Here's the thing: I'm not the only good person in the military – I never have been – I'm just the one who gets all the acclaim." 

Bob shook his head. "I'm not sure I understand." 

"All my travels, every mission I've ever gone on, was handed to me by my commanding officer, the now Brigadier General Mustang. And every one of those missions had to be approved by _his_ commanding officer, who is now our Führer." 

Bob raised his eyebrows at Ed. "You're saying we should really be calling Führer Grumman the People's Alchemist." 

Ed snorted. "No. For one, I'm fairly certain he doesn't have any alchemic talent. For another, my actions were always my own, once I got my mission. But, you know, him and Mustang, one of them always had to be the one to pick through a report and spot that something fishy, that one little warning sign that something was going down, and they had to be the ones to think, 'Let's send Fullmetal out there to shake things up'. Maybe I did the shaking, but they're the ones who pointed me towards the problem." 

He sighed and shook his head. "Look, it's a matter of accountability, I think, when you get right down to it. Everyone wants their leaders to care, and Bradley's regime was really good about _not_ caring, or only caring about expanding our borders, really, I guess. But Grumman, when you step back and stop bi– sorry, complaining about how he got the office, you see that he _does_ care. Maybe there aren't as many jobs in weapons development, and the military academy is accepting fewer cadets, but there's so much more money going into the hospitals, they're extending train lines to areas that weren't originally accessible, and we're rebuilding what was damaged by the military, like Ishval. 

"That's– I'm sorry, but that sounds a lot like what people have always wanted from the military, to me. It's focussing on everything _inside_ our borders, rather than looking outside them for trouble. And instead of focussing on that, instead of saying, 'Look, Führer Grumman gives a fu– cares', his critics are pointing at Bradley's legacy and saying, 'Führer Grumman doesn't care about defending our borders', or they complain about how Mustang's focussing too much on Ishval, or that Major General Armstrong is still up at Briggs, even though her men fought the Central soldiers last year." 

Bob frowned at him. "You disagree that Armstrong and her men shouldn't be punished for attacking Central soldiers?" 

Ed sighed. "I'm never going to be okay with how much blood Briggs spilt last year, but everyone seems to forget, too, that the Central soldiers were receiving orders from Clemin and Edison and their fellow traitors, like how they should shoot Mrs Bradley, and Briggs is big about 'shoot first', because they have to, against Drachma. So, yeah, they killed a lot of our own, and that's sh–crap, that is _so much_ crap, but they weren't the first ones to fire a gun. And, honestly, have you ever been up to Briggs? It's fu–freaking _cold_ up there, okay? You think getting posted up there is less of a punishment than life in a nice, warm prison cell?" 

Bob let out a choked sound, which sounded suspiciously like a laugh. 

Ed shrugged. "And Armstrong, honestly, she terrifies me; I wouldn't trust anyone else to guard our northern border." 

Bob did laugh, then, shaking his head. "So you're behind the military. That's new for you." 

Ed shook his head. "No. I don't like putting it like that, because that makes me sound like I've fallen in line, which I haven't. I think, instead, it's more that the military is behind the people. Or you can say they fell in line behind me, if you really want to put me on a pedestal, which people _do_ , and I've got things to say about that which I'm not allowed to say on the air–" Bob coughed "–but, yeah, the military and I are on the same page right now. Sure." 

Ed and Bob both looked over as the sound guy waved one hand at them in a gesture that looked a little like 'finish up'. 

Bob nodded. "Okay, it looks like we're coming to the end of our segment. I do have one last question for you, Ed, if you're willing?" 

"Go for it." 

"Before we started, I asked you why you were here, since interviews aren't really your thing." Ed gave a cautious nod. "For our listeners, could you repeat what you told me?" 

"Not verbatim." 

Bob smiled. "As close as you can, then." 

Ed sighed and sat back in his chair, eyes moving, without his conscious thought, towards the Hugheses in the outer room. "Because this is my home," he offered to Gracia's encouraging smile, before looking back at Bob and the microphone between them. "There's people I care about here; in Central, down south, out east; people who helped me when I needed a hand, who're going to help me in future. Because there are a lot of good people in Amestris, and there are things that alchemy can't hold together, which, sometimes, I'm finding, words can. 

"Because I've stood at the centre and watched Amestris fall apart once, and if it's within my power – what little I have – to keep that from happening again, then what kind of person would I be if I gave it any less than my all?" 

Bob swallowed and nodded. "Lieutenant Colonel Edward Elric, everyone, the People's Alchemist," he said, and his voice sounded rougher than it had before. 

Ed squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw against the urge to snarl about that. Pedestals. Fucking _shit_.

There was a long silence, then Bob said, "We're off air, then. Thank you." 

Ed opened his eyes and found a hand being held out to him. "Yeah," he said, taking the offered hand. "Thanks for letting me have my say about supporting old man Grumman. I know it's kind of an unpopular opinion." 

"Not for much longer, I expect," Bob pointed out. 

Ed withdrew his hand and started collecting his notecards. "Is it weird," he said quietly, "that that just makes me feel dirty?" 

Bob frowned. "Do you not actually support Grumman, then?" 

Ed glanced towards the window to the outer room. "Can they hear us right now?" 

Bob glanced down at a small panel at the base of the window to the sound room, which was completely dark. "No," he promised, still frowning. 

Ed nodded. "The thing I've learnt is, really, you don't have to _like_ a person to _agree_ with them, and I don't really like Grumman, on a personal level. His laugh is fucking obnoxious, no lie, and he's got the same smug little smirk that Mustang always puts on when he's looking to piss me off, and he's actually kind of a manipulative bastard. But–" Ed shrugged and stood "–all of his policies, everything he wants to do for Amestris? They're the same things I want. So, you know, as Führer, I'm one hundred percent on board, absolutely, all the way. But if I could go the rest of my life never standing in the same room as him again, I'd be okay with that." 

Bob let out a quiet laugh. "Fair enough. So, why does it bother you so much that you're probably going to change public opinion about him over night? That's sort of why you came here, right?" 

Ed sighed and shook his head. "Yeah, but I'm only sixteen, okay? It really bothers me that most of this country is willing to change their minds because I say so. No one should have that kind of power, least of all me." Then he turned and stepped from the room, forcing on a smile for Elicia as she dashed across the room towards him. "How'd I do?" he asked as he caught her in a hug. 

"You were a _ma_ zing!" Elicia declared, hugging him tight around the neck. 

Ed managed a laugh as he carefully loosened her grip so he didn't choke. 

Gracia joined them as the door behind Ed opened, Bob stepping out. "That was good, Ed," she promised, leaning over and kissing his cheek. "How about some sort of celebratory treat?" 

"Ice cream!" Elicia ordered. 

"Isn't it a little chilly for ice cream?" Ed replied drily. 

Elicia sent him a betrayed look. "Uncle Roy says it's never too cold for ice cream," she informed him. 

"Your Uncle Roy snaps his fingers and fire appears; he doesn't get a vote about temperatures." 

Gracia laughed and gently led Ed from the room with a hand on his arm. "We'll stop by the bakery on the way home," she offered. "Everyone should be able to find something there, right?" 

"Okay," Elicia agreed, slouching slightly in Ed's arms. 

Ed squeezed his arms around her gently. "Hey, you can pick out something for your Uncle Roy, right? Ice cream would be all melted by the time we got it back to him, but bakery goods'll last." 

That cheered Elicia up, and they spent way more time than Ed thought was necessary picking out treats for Mustang and – because he sort of halfway expected she'd drop by, since Gracia had told her she could – Lois. 

Lois was indeed there, and she'd greeted Ed with a laugh and a hug, before pulling back and slugging him. "I can't believe you admitted to wanting to punch the Führer on the radio!" 

Mustang, who was in the process of being given his treat by Elicia, let out a loud laugh that made Lois jump. "Of course Fullmetal would say he wanted to punch someone on the air. I'm more impressed he managed to stop himself from cursing." 

"Shut up," Ed ordered. 

"Well, stop himself from _completing_ any expletives," the bastard corrected. 

Ed pointed a finger at him and mouthed, 'Fuck you, bastard.'

Lois sighed and called, "Elicia, I think your big brother needs a tea party." 

"Traitor," Ed managed to whisper before he got dragged off by an extremely cheerful Elicia. 

Later, after Lois had gone back to the hotel – she really did like Elicia, Ed knew, but she could only visit for so long before she felt like she was intruding, especially with Mustang there – and Elicia had settled down for a short nap before dinner, Ed sat down with one of Gracia's photo albums. It was an older one, most of the pictures taken by Hughes, and the only one with any pictures of him, save for the two on the mantel. 

Ed was staring down at a picture of the man standing between Al and himself – his own expression very put upon, while Hughes was grinning like the lunatic he'd been – when Mustang announced himself by quietly commenting, "Maes always said he'd joined the military to protect the woman he would one day marry." 

Ed glanced back at where he was standing behind the couch. "Gracia?" he guessed. 

"Eventually," Mustang agreed, before nodding towards the album Ed was holding. "What you said, at the end, it reminded me of him; he'd have been proud of you." 

Ed swallowed and stared down at Hughes' grin. "Yeah." 

Mustang sighed and the back of the couch shifted as he leant forward, casual in a way that was becoming worryingly comfortable. "He'd also probably have punched me because I didn't even try talking you out of staying in the military." 

Ed snorted. "Screw that. He'd have been in my hospital room first thing, shoving the resignation papers at me." He glanced over at Mustang as the man let out his own snort. "He'd have been the one to drag you out of bed, not me, I bet." 

"Yeah. He'd probably have been the one doing all the reading, too. Interspersed with descriptions of his most recent pictures of Elicia and Gracia." 

Ed couldn't help a laugh at that. "Damn, I missed that trick, didn't I?" 

"Too late now," Mustang insisted, before Ed could offer to describe something in the album. 

Ed shook his head and turned the page. "I wouldn't have listened, you know," he offered. "To him or you." 

Mustang was quiet until Ed had turned another page, then he admitted, "I know." He touched Ed's shoulder and he glanced over at him, meeting solemn black eyes. "Thank you." 

They were way too fucking close, and Ed swallowed, trying to wet his suddenly-parched throat. "Yeah," he whispered, forcing himself to look away, to turn back to the pictures. "Someone's gotta be here to kick your arse." 

Mustang's responding snort was too quiet, too comfortable, and, fuck, Ed needed to get out, needed to destroy something, because _what the fuck_? What was happening to them? How had they become people who could look at a photo album together and fucking be _friendly_? What had happened to the familiar angry insults slung across a desk? 

Why had he just had the urge to lean in and kiss the bastard? 

"When are you leaving?" Mustang asked. 

Ed sighed and drooped back against the couch, his shoulder brushing against the bastard's arm. Elicia grinned up at him from the pages in his lap and guilt over his coming departure swept away whatever had just happened. Or hadn't happened. "There's a train tonight. Ten." And as much as he wanted to stay in Central, keep from breaking Elicia's heart by leaving her again, he needed to get out to Darius and Heinkel, had already sent word that he'd be on that train with the last bit of post he'd sent via Chris from the academy. "You?" 

"Tomorrow afternoon," Mustang admitted, and he sounded like he was looking forward to leaving as much as Ed was. "I expect that's the same train Second Lieutenant Hansa will be catching." 

Ed nodded, because, yeah, Lois had said her train was the day after Ed's. "Probably." He glanced towards Mustang, found him staring down at the album in Ed's lap, so he quickly turned the page. "I told old man Grumman I'd be keeping you informed." 

Mustang snorted. "What did he say?" 

"Warned me that any leaks could mean the lives of my team." 

"He's not wrong," Mustang admitted, and Ed glanced over at him again, found him watching Ed with tired eyes. "There's a reason I haven't been able to get any sensitive information." 

"I trust Marie," Ed returned. "And I don't answer to Grumman, I answer to _you_."

"That could have–"

"Don't." 

They were both quiet as Ed turned another page. And then another. And then a third. 

"Be careful out there, Ed," Mustang whispered at last, and it sounded more like a plea than an order. 

It seemed strangely fitting to quietly return, "Right back at you, Roy." 

He glanced over at Mustang and found the man watching him, a tired smile turning his mouth. 

Then Mustang straightened, one hand lightly squeezing Ed's shoulder before he withdrew to, from the sound of his footsteps, the kitchen. 

And Ed was left with the singular thought: _'He let me use his name.'_

-0-

Final goodbyes with Elicia had been, expectedly, heart-breaking. At least he'd been able to promise regular phone calls, that time, which was better than when he'd left for the academy. 

Still, it sucked, and he actually felt kind of bad about leaving Mustang to say the last goodbye, because both of them leaving was so much worse than it just being one of them. (Just as it had been when Ed and Al had both left. And, dammit, he was making a habit of being the first to leave, wasn't he?) 

Ed fell asleep before they'd left the lights of Central behind, and he didn't wake up until someone nudged him. "Hey, imagine seeing you here," a familiar voice offered. 

Ed blinked up at the two forms standing above him in military blue, his sleep-heavy mind struggling to figure out why they were there. "Oscar?" he mumbled, "Keith?" 

Oscar Pascale laughed and dropped heavily onto the bench next to Ed. "Yup!" 

Keith Piasecki settled far more purposefully on the bench across from Ed. "We're at Roth," he offered, naming the town that served as the connection point for the Central-West line and Central's outer loop line, and Ed realised that, yeah, the train was stopped. "Sorry to have woken you." 

Ed shook his head and straightened, his mind finally starting to wake up a bit more. "No, you're fine," he promised, reaching up to wipe at some of the crud in his eyes. "I really shouldn't be falling asleep on trains when I'm travelling by myself, anyway." And, fuck, he missed Al. 

"Probably not," Keith agreed. 

Oscar bumped Ed's shoulder with his. "That's cool. We're here now." 

Ed turned to stare at Oscar's wide grin for a moment before looking back at Keith, whose mouth kicked up at one side with a knowing sort of smile. "Like I said," Ed offered, the words dry, "I probably shouldn't sleep on trains." 

Keith snorted while Oscar let out a pathetic noise and shoved Ed's shoulder. "What did I ever do to you?" Oscar complained. "I've been good." 

" 'Good' is a relative term." 

Keith shook his head and, while Oscar huffed and pouted next to Ed, asked, "I know you said you were headed west, but where are you getting off?" 

Ed frowned. Darius had said something about meeting him in West City at the beginning of the month, but that had never really been solidified, and while he knew where the hideout of the pro-Bradley group Heinkel was with was, he really didn't want to go in blind. "West City," he decided. If Darius wasn't there, he could catch the next train out to Lisberth and either (hopefully) meet Darius there, instead, or just start heading north on the road. (And he really needed to talk those two arseholes into giving him more than a half-joking crash course in driving, because if they kept going places with no train access, he was going to get really fucking sick of catching them up on foot.) 

Oscar perked up next to him. "Hey, we really _are_ travelling together!" 

Keith, the traitor, just starting laughing at Ed's sigh. 

-0-

They pulled into West City late the next evening, not quite twenty-four hours after leaving Central. (And, holy shit, Ed would never fucking complain about how long it took to get to East City from Central _ever again_.)

He and Oscar waved to Keith – who would be be continuing all the way to the end of the line, then catch a car out to the military camp his mother and younger brother were at on the Cretan border, and Ed actually felt kind of bad for him, because that was another day on the train – as they stepped off onto the platform, then started towards the entrance in step. 

"You really should have changed," Oscar pointed out, because both he and Keith had commented on Ed's civilian wear when they'd seen the signs that they were getting close to the city. 

Ed sighed. " _Why_?" he complained for what felt like the twentieth time. "I'm not reporting in anywhere, not tonight–" the train getting in late had actually been good for that, since he didn't have to explain that his orders didn't fall under the jurisdiction of the West City commander "–so why would I bother changing into it just to get off the train and find a hotel?" 

"So you could stay in the dorms?" Oscar suggested. 

Ed shot him a flat look. "I'd rather drop money on a hotel room, thanks." 

Oscar sighed. "It's expected?" he offered, and the tone of his voice made it clear he was expecting to get laughed at for that. 

Ed was happy to serve. 

"Is that a runt I hear?" Darius' voice called out from just off to the left. 

Ed turned in the direction it had come from, snarling, "You wanna say that to my fucking face, monkey-brain?" 

"What?" Oscar said next to him, probably not having noticed Darius' comment over the sounds of the station. 

Darius came into view just past the straggling travellers, a confused look on his face as he looked over the crowd. He was – Ed couldn't help but notice, given the topic he'd just been debating – wearing his familiar civilian jumper. "I would if I could find you," he offered. 

Ed darted around a couple of kids stumbling along after their mum and aimed an uppercut to the underside of Darius' jaw, which the arsehole dodged with a laugh. "You wanna fucking die?" 

Darius caught his next punch in one hand with a wince. "Hey, Ed," he offered, holding up his other hand in a sign of peace. 

Ed pointed his free hand at him. "Start that shit with me again and I'll alchemise your sleeping gear into something embarrassing overnight," he threatened. 

Darius coughed and let Ed's hand go with a grimace. "You know, I almost thought I missed you for, I dunno, half a second. It was a little weird, so thanks for reminding me you're a pain in my arse." 

Ed raised an eyebrow at that opening. "Your sleeping gear certainly will be," he agreed, and Darius' responding laugh was as apprehensive as it was amused. 

"Hey, Ed?" Oscar called, reminding him that he hadn't got off the train alone. 

Ed winced, then turned to his former classmate. "Hey. Oscar, this is Second Lieutenant Darius Wright, part of my team. Darius, Second Lieutenant Oscar Pascale, who was in training with me." 

Darius held out a hand before Oscar could salute. "Greetings." 

Oscar let out an amused huff and took the offered hand for a polite shake. "I don't know why I'm surprised that Ed's team follows protocol as well as he does." 

"You want my partner for regulations," Darius replied. "I'm perfectly happy having a commander who thinks salutes are a waste of time." 

"I never said that," Ed insisted. 

Darius flashed him a smile that was one hundred percent trouble. "I'm extrapolating; what you actually called it, I'm fairly certain, was something more commonly heard in a brothel." 

Ed rolled his eyes while Oscar let out an embarrassed noise and covered his face. "I think I need to go home," Oscar complained. "Away from this whole conversation." 

Darius, of course, practically howled with laughter. 

"Ignore him," Ed suggested. "I sometimes wonder if he wasn't somehow combined with a donkey; it's the only explanation for how much of an ass he is." 

Darius shoved at his shoulder hard enough that Ed had to step forward with one foot or fall over. "Fuck you too, Ed." 

Oscar shook his head. "I'll see you tomorrow at Command?" he suggested. 

Ed frowned, but before he could come up with an excuse about why he wouldn't be going by West Command, Darius agreed, "Sure. We've got a meeting with Brigadier General Komar at oh-eight-hundred." 

Ed stiffened and turned a stare on the chimera, because _what_? When the fuck had that happened? 

Darius caught his eyes and gave a whisper of a nod, then offered, "There's this diner next block over from our hotel that stays open late, if you want dinner?" 

Ed forced a smile because it was expected, and his voice came out impossibly casual as he agreed, "After a day of train food? You better fucking believe it." 

Oscar let out an amused sound. "Yeah, good point. Maybe I'll be lucky and my mum'll have some leftovers I can filch for free." 

Ed snorted. "Yeah, good luck with that, cheapskate." 

Oscar waved a careless hand over his shoulder as he walked away. 

"This way," Darius murmured and led the way out of the station in the opposite direction from Oscar. 

The diner wasn't far, and was still reasonably busy, despite it being after most people went for dinner. Darius requested a booth that had good lines of sight from both benches, and Ed tossed his battered suitcase across his side before dropping into the seat with a sigh that was only half for show. Their waitress smiled at him like she understood and politely took their drinks order before leaving them to the menu. 

Ed waited until she'd left again with their food orders before quietly demanding, "What went wrong?" 

Darius sighed. "This is why I didn't tell you to just meet me at West Command. You always jump to the–"

"Darius," Ed interrupted, unamused. 

The chimera sighed again and stirred his water with his straw, ice clinking. "Look, we know how many are in there, we've got the layout of the place, everything. Heinkel and I talked it over, and we can go in, just the three of us, and hope we come out the other side with only minor wounds, or we can pull some people from West Command and take it down properly." 

Ed stared down at his hands, folded around his own water glass, condensation seeping into his gloves. Finding a safe way to handle the group had never occurred to him. He was far too used to just running in and damn the consequences, and it seemed that no amount of command training was going to cure him of that, which fucking _sucked_. "I'm an idiot," he admitted. 

Darius scoffed. "No," he disagreed, and Ed glanced up at him, feeling tired and a little stupid. "You're just not used to playing by the rules." 

Ed snorted. "That's a very pretty way of saying I'm not military material." 

They were both quiet as their waitress brought over their food, beyond the expected offer of gratitude for the quick service. 

Once she'd left again, Darius offered, "I heard the broadcast." 

Ed raised an eyebrow at him silently, mouth full. 

Darius shook his head. "Sounds to me, Ed, like you're exactly what the military needs." 

Ed swallowed. "Save the whole saluting shit and, clearly, asking for help." 

Darius smirked at him from behind his burger. "Can't help you with the first one, but we can work on the asking for help thing." 

Ed snorted and went back to making his way through his meal, which was fantastic, and he was absolutely coming back here next time he was in West City. Which was almost certain to happen if he kept his loose leash. (And he _would_ keep his loose leash, because there was no way he'd let himself be tied down to a desk like Mustang had done.) 

It occurred to him, once they'd paid and were heading back to the hotel: "Does old man Grumman know we're calling in at West Command?" 

Darius was quiet for a telling moment before admitting, "No." 

Yeah, that's what Ed was afraid of. He sighed and shook his head. "Like West Command wasn't going to find out we were playing in their sandbox the first time I levelled a building," he muttered and Darius laughed. "Fuck it; what time are we due at Command? Eight?" 

"Yes." 

"Fine. I'll see if I can't ring the bastard before we're due in." 

"You know, I also can't help you with that respect problem you have," Darius pointed out as he held open the hotel's front door for Ed. 

"Fuck you." 

Darius did his disturbing eyebrow wiggle. "Was that an offer?" 

Ed rolled his eyes and shoved the chimera towards the stairs. "Ask me again after it sinks in that I'm not going to be demolishing any buildings because you arseholes decided to be fucking _responsible_."

Darius coughed. "Did we cover how angry alchemist sex is not one of my kinks?" 

"Might have come up," Ed allowed. 

Darius stopped at the landing and looked back down at him, his expression so completely serious, Ed almost lost it. "We might have to go through a refresher." 

"Might do," Ed admitted. "But you're still not getting any sex tonight." 

Down in the lobby, someone let out a choked noise. 

Somehow, they made it back to Darius' room before they both cracked up, Ed dropping back against the closed door, while Darius bowed over in the middle of the room, both of them holding their stomachs. 

As they both started to calm down, Darius held back his fist towards Ed, who reached out and bumped it with his own. "I really did miss you, Ed," the chimera offered. 

"I missed you arseholes, too," Ed admitted, pushing away from the door and heading for the bed that didn't have Darius' suitcase on it. He tossed his own on the bedspread and turned back to Darius with a smile that felt way too fond. "Thanks. For sticking it out with me." 

Darius smiled back at him, just as fond. "Well, it was you or the circus." 

Ed snorted at the image that conjured. "You I can see; not so sure about Heinkel, though." 

"It was his suggestion," Darius offered, his eyes glinting. 

Ed scoffed, not sure he believed him, and turned to open his suitcase. "Yeah, whatever. I'm going to bed." 

Darius chuckled at that, but followed suit without further comment.

.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the generally accepted canon for Ed's birthday is 3rd Feb, because of the 2003 anime, but when I was figuring out my calendar for this series, I ended up picking a different date. Mostly because I see him as a Leo, but also because of terrible, horrible reasons.
> 
> Original character death (off-screen, but the fall-out is on-screen) is in this chapter and follows through the next few. And, fuck, I've known practically since they first showed up that I was going to be killing them, but I still cried when I was writing it. I'm sorry.
> 
> Related to that, Ed has a panic attack in this chapter.

One of the nice things about travelling with someone you were already way too familiar with, was that they were so far beyond being embarrassed by each other, nothing fazed them. So, when Darius forgot his change of clothing on his bed while he took a shower, Ed didn't even blink to see the man dash out, still dripping, holding his towel in front of his crotch, because he was too large to wrap it around his waist and trust it to stay. 

That said, Ed also couldn't resist commenting, "This room comes with a free show? _Nice_."

Darius rolled his eyes and headed back into the bathroom. "It's not free," he called back. "You owe me a thousand cenz." 

Ed laughed. "Fuck, you're _cheap_."

"I'll take it in the form of breakfast," the chimera added. 

Ed shook his head, probably way too amused by the whole thing but, seriously, he'd just spent a day on a train after parting from Elicia, and here he was, up at the arse-crack of dawn because he needed to call Grumman before their meeting with the West commander – Komar, or whatever his name was. Ed figured he was due some stupid laughs. "Yeah, fine," he called back. "Where's good?" 

"Bakery, or sit-down?" 

Ed pulled out his watch to check the time. "Let's do a bakery, just to be safe," he decided, because they had time to have a sit-down meal, but he wouldn't mind the extra time, in case Grumman was feeling obnoxious. 

Darius stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in his uniform, same as Ed, and turned to watch as Ed stood. "Huh. Doesn't look bad on you," he offered. 

Ed sighed down at himself. "I know," he muttered. 

"Pisses you off?" Darius guessed, leading the way from the room. 

" _Yes_. I almost wish I'd stuck with the red coat." 

"That thing just turned you into a target," Darius complained. "Way too easy to hit, even with the way you fight." 

"Am I wearing it?" 

Darius snorted. "Fair enough." 

The bakery he took them to wasn't quite as good as Marie's place, or the shop around the block from the Hugheses, but it was food, so Ed kept his mouth shut. Well, sort of. It would have been hard to eat if he'd–

It was clearly way too early to be up. 

At West Command's main gate, they were let past by saluting guards without even a _hint_ that they might be held back, and Ed sighed. "The uniform does have a few perks my coat lacked," he commented. 

Darius' mouth quirked. "Fewer questions?" 

"Oh yeah." Ed shoved his hands in his pockets. "Though, you know, it also leaves people expecting you know how to salute, which I–"

"Do?" Darius suggested. "You just don't want to." 

Ed huffed. "Fine, yes, that." He slowed as they stepped through the doors of the main building, glancing over at the chimera. "Phones?" When Darius shook his head and shrugged, Ed huffed again, then waved at a passing corporal. "Sorry, Corporal?" 

The man turned and, upon seeing the markings on Ed's shoulder, came to attention and saluted. "Lieutenant Colonel, sir! How can I be of assistance?" 

Ed resisted the urge to sigh. "I just got in from Central; I was hoping you could point me in the direction of a phone I could use." 

The man blinked, his salute drooping. "I-It's just down the hall here, sir. I was heading in that direction, if you wanted to follow me?" 

Ed smiled. "Awesome. Thanks, Corporal." 

The corporal blinked again, then finally dropped his hand and silently led them down the hall. 

Darius snorted. "Maybe we _should_ work on your saluting." 

"Shut up." 

The corporal left them at the phone bay, where Ed nodded at the private sitting at the desk, then stepped up to one of the phones in the middle, comforted by Darius coming to stand behind him, blocking him from any casual viewers. He quickly rang through to the Central Command operator and, after giving his rank and name, was transferred to Grumman. 

_"Lieutenant Colonel,"_ Grumman said by way of greeting, his tone worryingly polite. _"You can't possibly have been in the west long enough to be ringing me."_

Ed scoffed. "You'd think that, wouldn't you?" He let out a sigh and rubbed at a nick in the case of the phone housing. "My team wants to pull some West Command troops to lessen the chance of a hospital visit." 

Grumman was silent for a moment before he said, _"There's sense in that. I expect you have a meeting with Brigadier General Komar to request the troops?"_

"In about twenty minutes," Ed agreed. 

_"Very well. You know what's on the line."_

Ed glanced over his shoulder at the solid blue back of Darius. "I do." 

Grumman let a beat of silence go, then, in a much lighter voice, commented, _"Do keep in mind that Brigadier General Komar will expect a salute from you."_

"So you _were_ listening," Ed realised. "And no obnoxious laughter? I'm almost disappointed." 

_"I wouldn't want to acclimate you to it too quickly,"_ Grumman offered, amusement obvious in his voice. 

Ed snorted. "Fuck you, sir." 

Behind him, Darius let out an amused cough, while Grumman started laughing on the other end of the line. 

Ed sighed but, really, he knew he would have been better served just skipping the topic entirely, if he'd wanted to avoid the bastard laughing at him. 

_"Thank you for that, Lieutenant Colonel,"_ Grumman said at last, sounding much more like himself than when he'd first picked up. 

"Sure thing. Being an insubordinate shit is my favourite pastime. Sir." 

_"I'm aware. Keep me informed."_

"Yes, sir." Ed hung up and turned towards where Darius was glancing back at him. "We're good." 

Darius nodded and stepped back, letting him out of the phone booth. "I figured we would be." 

Ed huffed and rolled his eyes. "Shut up," he ordered before stepping over to the private sitting the desk, who immediately saluted him. "I could use directions to Brigadier General Komar's office, please." 

She blinked and lowered her hand. "I could call someone down to lead you, if you'd like, sir?" 

Ed shook his head. "Verbal directions are fine." 

Still looking uncertain, the private did so. 

"Awesome. Thanks." Ed motioned for Darius to follow him, then started towards the nearest set of stairs. "So, this place is pretty close to a mirror of East. Good to know." 

Darius shrugged. "I expect most of the command buildings are close matches." 

Ed nodded. "Likely. Makes it easier for new transfers to acclimate." 

"True." Darius let out a quiet sigh. "How much are we explaining?" 

Ed slipped his left hand into his pocket, folding his fingers around the first thing his fingers touched, which turned out to be a coin. "As little as possible," he murmured, pitching his voice to stay between them. 

"We need a story." 

Ed nodded; he expected Grumman would have warned him off if he was concerned about Komar's trustworthiness, but the less was said about why they were hunting this particular group, the smaller the chance that the wrong person would overhear something and pass it on. So they needed an excuse to go after this group that had nothing to do with their pro-Bradley dogma. And then it occurred to him: They _did_ have something on them. 

"How many military installations have they attacked, now?" Because the one attack Heinkel and Darius had managed to get advance warning about back in February had been neither the first nor the last, and they'd had to let some of the attacks go through to keep the group's leadership from realising they had a mole. 

Darius glanced at him. "Six successful. You want to label them as terrorists?" 

Ed shrugged. "Aren't they?" 

Darius nodded. "Works for me." 

They made it up to Komar's office with plenty of time to spare. Ed was just about to knock on the outer office door – which was closed – when it was yanked open and a gangly young woman who had about a head on him dashed out with an irritated, "I'm _goi_ –!"

She slammed into Ed with enough force that he had no hope of keeping his balance without hurting her, so he took the fall, one hand coming up to cushion her head before she knocked it against the floor. The files she'd been holding went one way, and the mug she'd been carrying went the other and shattered when it hit the floor, coffee puddling outwards from the site of impact and, luckily, far enough away that neither the scattered papers nor Ed got soaked. 

There followed a moment of stunned silence, which Ed broke by asking, "Are you okay?" 

The woman's grey eyes went wide. "Ohmygod!" she breathed. "I'm so sorry! I didn't even see– I shouldn't have–"

Ed startled them both by laughing, because, as often as people made short jokes at his expense, he'd never actually been run over by someone who was way too fucking tall and not looking where they were going. "Darius," he called, "some help." 

Darius reached down a hand towards the woman, laughter in his voice as he offered, "Don't worry about it; Ed's used to people not seeing him." 

"Shut the fuck up," Ed snarled, even as Darius helped the woman up and off of him, steadying her as she nearly lost her footing on the scattered papers. 

"Grace," someone sighed from the office doorway, and Ed looked up as he got to his own feet, finding a dark-skinned man with a resigned expression standing there, staring over the mess like it was a common sight. 

The woman let out a pitiful noise. "I broke another mug," she realised, sounding honestly upset about that. 

"Hey, woah, easy fix," Ed promised, before clapping his hands together and ducking down to touch the shattered expanse of ceramic, the necessary array so familiar, he didn't even really have to envision it. The light of his alchemy flared and the mug reformed seamlessly, a secondary array evaporating the spilled coffee around it, so he was left with just the mug in the middle of a dry floor once the light died down. He caught it by the handle as he straightened and held it out with a grin. "See?" 

The woman stared at him for a moment, then looked at the man in the doorway, and whispered, "Oh no." 

"Lieutenant Colonel Elric," the man in the doorway recognised. 

Ed glanced back over at him, and he saw the markings on his shoulder that time. "Brigadier General Komar," he realised. 

Komar offered him a tired smile. "Quite. I'm sorry about Corporal Wespe; she was supposed to leave before you arrived," he finished flatly, shooting a pointed look at the woman. 

"Hey, no harm," Ed insisted, before looking over at the woman. "Seriously, you're not hurt, right?" 

She stared at him like she wasn't sure how to respond to that, before mutely shaking her head. 

"See," Ed said, looking back towards the brigadier general. "Everyone's fine. Although we should probably pick up the papers," he added, half to himself, before reaching out and gently – but firmly – catching the corporal's hands and wrapping them around the repaired mug. "Got it?" 

She nodded and whispered, "Yeah. I-I mean, yes, si–"

"Awesome," Ed interrupted, before kneeling to collect the fallen papers, Darius mirroring his motions with a sigh. 

After a brief moment, Komar joined them, ordering the corporal, "Just hold the mug, Grace." 

With three of them, despite how far some of the papers had slid down the hall, it didn't take long to collect everything in a single pile, which Komar traded for the mug, ordering, "File room. And you can stay down there and organise everything for them." 

The corporal sighed, shoulders slumping. "Yes, sir," she agreed quietly, before trudging off towards the staircase Ed and Darius had come up. 

Ed frowned after her. "Bit harsh," he couldn't resist saying. "It was an accident." 

He felt Komar watching him and looked over, raising an eyebrow at him. "Hm," the brigadier general said, before turning towards the opened office door. "Come in, gentlemen." 

"Let it go," Darius murmured as they followed Komar through the empty front office and towards the back one. 

Ed clenched his jaw and gave a quick nod; he wasn't here to argue how some brigadier general treated his subordinates, no matter how much he wanted to. 

Komar waved them towards the seats in front of his desk, before stepping over to a short cabinet against the wall and collecting what turned out to be a tray with mugs of coffee, which he set carefully on his desk in easy reach of Ed and Darius, before picking one up and taking his seat. "You're judging me, Lieutenant Colonel," he commented mildly, watching Ed over his mug. 

Ed glanced over at Darius, who shook his head, then turned and narrowed his eyes on the brigadier general. If the man was going to open himself up for criticism, who was Ed to deny? "I am, sir," he agreed evenly, and Darius let out a silent sigh before reaching for one of the mugs, as though it would serve him as a guard against Ed's particular brand of insubordination. 

Inexplicably, Komar's mouth twitched like he'd been about to smile. "Good," was all he said before leaning back in his chair and turning to Darius, one eyebrow arching. 

Wait, what? That was...it? 

Darius straightened in that way that military types always did when they caught the attention of a ranking officer. "Second Lieutenant Wright, sir. I answer to Lieutenant Colonel Elric." 

He was missing something, here. Even Mustang would have had more to say than just 'good'. That had sounded almost like Komar had been _glad_ that Ed was holding his behaviour against him, which was...not military behaviour. At all. 

Komar nodded and turned back to Ed. "What can I do for you, Lieutenant Colonel?" he asked, his tone so utterly mild. 

Ed leant forward to collect the remaining mug, using the few seconds that gave him to change mental tracks, before he explained, his tone probably cooler than was polite, "While I was in training, my team decided to take some leave and wander around Amestris a bit. They heard rumours about a terrorist group while they were out here and I talked Mustang into letting me come out and take a look." He paused to take a sip of the coffee, which was the expected military sludge; always nice to know some things were universal. "The numbers are a little higher than I'd like to take on with just my team, and since it's your compounds they're terrorising, figured I'd see if you would be willing to lend us a few soldiers to even the playing field." Ed glanced up at him, eyes narrowing against his will as he found himself met with a blank stare. "Sir." 

Komar tilted his head slightly to the side, his expression unchanging. "I know the group," he agreed. "We've never managed a handle on their numbers, though." 

"There's, what, twenty-six?" Ed offered to the implied question, glancing towards Darius. 

"Approximately," he agreed, which meant the group had either added or lost members since the last report Ed had received from them. "I don't have the exact number on me." Which meant the additions or subtractions were recent; Ed suspected the group had another raid on a military compound planned for after Darius would have had to leave, since they always seemed to lose at least one member every time they pulled that shit. 

Komar nodded and turned towards the western Amestris map on the wall. "Our best estimates have placed them northeast of Lisberth." Ed glanced over and found someone had put a red tack into the wall in the area he suspected Komar meant, which was way too far south and west of where the actual base was. 

"They have a storehouse there," Darius offered, and Ed glanced at him. "Weaponry, food, a bolt hole to escape to when they finish a raid. It's watched by two men." 

So, a decoy to draw the military's eye and keep them from going further north; Ed nodded his understanding, then told Komar, "You're too far south. They're somewhere north of Pendleton." Which wasn't particularly accurate, because they were actually northeast of Pendleton, almost a straight shot north from West City, but Ed wasn't giving _anyone_ the exact position until he knew Heinkel was safely out. 

" 'Somewhere north'?" Komar repeated sceptically. 

Ed smiled at him, didn't care if it looked insubordinate. "The other member of my team has the exact coordinates." 

Komar just stared at him for a moment, before letting out a quiet snort and nodding. "Of course. How many of my people are a 'few'?" 

Ed glanced at Darius. "Three? Four?" 

Darius shrugged and agreed, "Five would be too many, but we could probably manage with two." 

They could 'manage' without pulling additional soldiers entirely, but Ed didn't bother pointing that out, instead turning back to Komar and adding, "I'd like to keep the casualties down on both sides, so no Briggs rejects, please." 

"Ed," Darius said, and Ed looked back at him again, frowning. "Remember what happened the last time you let an opponent live?" 

"I'm not going to let this turn into a fucking bloodbath," Ed snapped. "And _don't_ start quoting that psycho at me." Never mind that, in the end, not killing Kimblee in the mineshaft had given him the edge he'd needed over Pride, and disabling instead of killing Darius and Heinkel had ended up saving his own life, so. 

Yeah, Ed had a pretty good track record when it came to later meetings with those opponents he left alive. 

"All of my, as you call them, 'Briggs rejects'," Komar interrupted, his tone dry, "are stationed along the border, where they're needed." He reached out and shifted some of the papers on his desk. "I believe you're familiar with Second Lieutenant Pascale?" 

"Oscar? Yeah." 

Komar nodded and picked up a pen, then started writing on a blank piece of paper he'd unearthed. Ed sipped at his coffee as the brigadier general wrote, resisting the urge to glance at Darius just because he couldn't promise it wouldn't result in more bickering. 

At any rate, the silence gave him a chance to notice just _how_ quiet it was; it hadn't really occurred to him when they'd first walked in, but it was late enough in the day that there should have been people in the outer office. But Komar and the chastised corporal – what was her name? Komar had called her Grace, hadn't he? Grace...something – were the only people he'd seen in the office. Hell, Komar had even been the one to manage the coffee, which was unusual for officers with space for their teams, wasn't it? 

It wasn't like West Command was lacking in personnel; they'd seen plenty of soldiers on their way from the gate to the brigadier general's office, but were none of them stationed with Komar? Or had he sent all of them away, like he'd been in the process of doing with the corporal? 

Now he wished he'd paid more attention to the outer office as he walked through, but he'd been so busy biting back his disapproval that he hadn't even looked at it. And, fuck it, didn't he already know better than to let his anger rule his caution? He was going to walk straight into an ambush one of these days, all unaware because he was fucking pissed off that someone had implied he was anything but a normal height. 

Ugh, Mustang was right. He really needed to get past his height issues. 

"I'll lend you Lieutenant Pascale and Warrant Officers Ostwind," Komar announced as he set his pen back in the holder. "Pascale should be in Lieutenant Colonel Havilland's office, which is two doors down to the right. Give this to Havilland and I'll have the Ostwinds meet you down in the lobby." So saying, he folded the paper he'd just been writing on in half, then held it out to Ed. But, before Ed could take it, it slipped from Komar's hand and fell to the floor. The man sighed. "Sorry. Sometimes it seems I'm as graceless as my cousin," he offered as Ed bent over to pick up the fallen paper. 

And, just like that, the puzzle pieces slotted into place: 'Graceless' – the corporal's first name had been 'Grace', used despite the military preference for last names, like a sign of familiarity; the resignation on his face when Komar had seen the mess, like it was _common_ , like the corporal was always dropping things. (Like her comment about how she'd broken _another_ mug.) 

It occurred to him, then, that Komar had never yelled. Ed hadn't noticed in the moment, had been too distracted by how Komar had sent her away with what could have been construed – _had_ been construed – as a punishment, but he hadn't been angry. And Ed _knew_ people who liked sorting files, or who would love an excuse to get lost in a file room for hours; who was to say that had to be a punishment? 

That had been an excuse. A show of punishment to placate someone who might get snarly about being run into, while also getting the possible target out firing range. Mustang had done the same thing to Ed a dozen times over the course of his military career (not that Ed had realised it at the time), getting him out of range of a superior who he had the potential to piss off, or who he _had_ pissed off, on a couple occasions, because he'd stayed to snarl one last insult when Mustang had tried to get him to leave. 

Komar had said 'good' because Ed had taken the corporal's – his _cousin_ 's – side. Because he'd been angry on her behalf that she would be punished for something that had clearly been an accident. Because Ed didn't let fucking _rank_ stop him from letting someone know they were a shithead for how they treated their subordinates, even if he was learning not to come right out and say so. 

Ed sat back up, paper in hand, and offered, "Don't worry about it. I don't judge people unless they meant it." 

There it was again, that twitch of the brigadier general's mouth, like he'd just barely suppressed a smile. "I'm glad we understand each other, Lieutenant Colonel." 

Ed recognised a dismissal when he heard one, as did Darius (clearly), so they both stood. "Likewise, sir," Ed replied, before leading the way out of the office. 

As they walked through the outer office, he took a quick look around. And, while it was set up for a team, and there were enough piles of paper for a team, it was obvious that only one of the desks saw regular use. So it seemed the corporal was his only dedicated staff, for whatever reason – clumsiness or efficiency, or a mix of the two, Ed would guess – and when he cleared her out to keep her out of the firing range of visitors that might take what was most likely a natural clumsiness as an insult, he was left to greet his guests and manage the pleasantries himself. 

Which, well, that had to suck a bit, but he'd kept to it, rather than handing his cousin off to another command, which said a lot about his character. 

"Remind me," Ed murmured to Darius, once they were out in the hallway, "to spend a few hours in the personnel room next time we're in Central." 

Darius frowned at him. "I'm fairly certain you don't have the clearance to snoop through the files you're interested in." 

"I never said it had to be during business hours," Ed pointed out. 

Darius snorted. "Don't get caught," he warned before they entered the office Komar had sent them to. Which, regretfully, meant Ed couldn't complain about being insulted; like he was really going to let himself be caught sneaking around in Central Command. 

Other than Oscar – who grinned when he saw Ed – there was another second lieutenant, a first lieutenant, and a sergeant major in the office, all of whom glanced up at their entrance. The first lieutenant – a hard-eyed woman who reminded Ed of Hawkeye, despite looking nothing like her – got to her feet and saluted, asking, "What can we do for you, Lieutenant Colonel?" 

Ed nodded towards the inner office, which was open. "Brigadier General Komar sent me to talk to Lieutenant Colonel Havilland." 

She frowned at him, clearly disapproving, and dropped her salute. "He's free, sir." 

"Thank you." Ed glanced back at Darius. "Your choice." 

Darius shrugged. "I'll stay out here, sir." 

Ed grimaced at the 'sir', but nodded and continued into the inner office on his own. As he cleared the doorway, he heard Oscar say, "Don't take it personally, Alecto. He doesn't salute anyone." 

The man seated at the desk looked like he enjoyed food a little too much, but he didn't quite have Breda's figure. He was also much older than Komar (who had looked to be in his late thirties or early forties), but not quite as old as Grumman, given that his dark hair was only just starting to go grey. He didn't bother setting down the pen he was holding as Ed stopped in front of the desk, turning a bored gaze on him. "Komar sent you?" he requested. 

Ed handed over the paper Komar had given him. "I'm borrowing Second Lieutenant Pascale for a bit," he offered, and someone made an interested noise out in the front office. 

Havilland looked over the paper, then jerked a much sharper gaze up at Ed. "So," he said coolly, "you're the Fullmetal Alchemist." 

Ed managed to bite back the first two smart-arse retorts that came to mind, before he drily agreed, "I am." 

Havilland stared at him for a moment, until Ed narrowed his eyes, then looked back down at the paper. "How long? Komar doesn't specify." 

"I don't expect to need him for more than two days," Ed decided, "but, worst case, he'll be back by Monday." That gave them Friday and the weekend, in case things went to shit. Which they shouldn't, because it was a simple neutralisation mission, but Ed didn't have a great track record with missions going to plan. (Although, with how much of a knowing bastard Mustang was, maybe his missions had gone _exactly_ to plan, just not _Ed's_ plan.) 

"Fine. Pascale!" Havilland shouted. 

A chair scrapped out in the front office and the sound of someone hurrying preceded Oscar, who came to attention next to Ed. "Sir!" 

"You'll be going with Lieutenant Colonel Elric for a few days. Clean up your workstation." 

"Yes, sir!" Oscar barked, before hurrying back out of the room. 

Havilland looked back to Ed. "I want him back in one piece, Elric." 

Ed's smile wasn't even pretending to be polite. "That makes two of us," he returned, before turning and walking from the office. 

Oscar was quickly cleaning up his desk, though he paused as Ed stepped out, flashing him a grin and asking, "So, where are we going?" 

"You'll find out," Ed replied, shaking his head. 

Oscar frowned and glanced towards Darius, who had come to parade rest next to the door out to the hall, then back at Ed, his eyes narrowing. "Wait–"

"Shut up," Ed ordered, pointing at his former classmate, because he didn't know exactly what conclusion Oscar had just reached, but he knew he was far more clever than his normal joking demeanour suggested, and Ed didn't need him blurting out anything that might clue in the wrong people. "Are you ready to go?" 

Oscar's jaw stiffened and he quickly leant down to grab a satchel from under his desk, then started towards him. "Yeah." 

Ed nodded and motioned him ahead, since he knew the building best. "We're heading down to the lobby." 

Oscar silently took the lead, taking them down a nearby stairway that Ed had suspected existed – like he'd noticed earlier, West Command was a mirror of East Command – and down a busy hallway to the front entrance. Two soldiers stood there, a man and a woman, both tanned and with the same shade of dark hair, the shape of their faces similar enough that Ed assumed they were related in some manner. 

"Yo, Oscar!" the male called. "Didn't know you were back!" 

Oscar's shoulders loosened and, when he spoke, Ed could almost see the smile his voice said he was wearing, "Max! Yeah, got in today, but guess I'm right back out again." 

Ed touched his shoulder to get him to stop, then stepped around him. The two new soldiers – warrant officers, he could see now – both straightened and saluted. He sighed while Oscar, the _traitor_ , started snickering. "Warrant Officers Ostwind?" he requested, and Oscar's snickering stopped. 

The woman gave a tight nod. "Yes, sir." 

"At ease," Ed said, and it came out sounding strained, but they both relaxed. "Good. You're with me." 

"Wait," Oscar said before Ed could say anything else. "They're coming too?" 

Ed shrugged. "Yup." To the Ostwinds, he offered, "I'm Ed Elric, that's–" he motioned towards Darius "–Darius Wright. Komar's letting me borrow the three of you for a little trip out of the city. You've got an hour to pack a bag for a couple nights, then meet us at the– fuck, Darius, what's the name of the hotel again?" 

Darius snorted. "West Forest." 

"That one. Go, shoo." 

The woman frowned. "Where out of the city, sir?" 

Ed shook his head. "Not far." 

"We'll fill you in while we're on the way," Darius offered. "For now, just use your best judgement." 

When Oscar opened his mouth, a frown tugging at his mouth, Ed shoved him towards the doors. " _Go_ , Oscar. Stop being a pain in my arse." 

Oscar's jaw firmed and he nodded before shooing the frowning Ostwinds out ahead of him. 

"This is your fault," Ed muttered to Darius, who snorted. "Anything we need to raid the military for?" 

"A vehicle?" 

Ed turned and raised his eyebrows at the chimera. "What did you do with the one you had?" Because Darius had mentioned, in one of his earliest reports, that they'd bought a car with their personal accounts, but wouldn't complain about reimbursement, since it was technically for their mission, which Ed had left for Grumman to sort out. 

"Left it with Heinkel," Darius admitted with a shrug. "Figured he could get more use out of it than I could." 

In other words, if things went to shit for him while Darius was collecting Ed, Heinkel had a quick escape. 

He nodded. "Right. Let's go irritate the carpool people, then," he decided, and Darius chortled as he followed him. 

-0-

As they'd packed up the vehicle – a transport truck, actually, so they didn't have to find room in the Pendleton town jail for all of the group – Oscar had properly introduced the two Ostwinds: Maximillian and Maxine, twins who both answered to 'Max', which appeared to have a great backstory, but they didn't really have time to cover it, especially as the three soldiers seemed far more interested in finding out what they were doing than trading tales. 

Darius had pulled out a couple maps for Ed, most of which he'd received copies of in reports over the months, which showed the layout of the group's hideout and the surrounding terrain. He sat in the back with the three loans, going over everything with them, while Darius took them on back roads north from West City. 

"Shit," Oscar said once Ed had finished. "How long have you been tracking this group, Ed?" 

Ed raised an eyebrow at him. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he replied evenly. "I've been at Fort Forsthaus, same as you." 

"Your team, then." 

"My team's been on leave." 

Oscar stared at him for a long moment before letting out a sharp laugh and shaking his head. "God. And we all thought you couldn't keep a secret to save your life." 

Ed snorted and climbed up into the passenger seat, calling back, "Still dunno what you're talking about, Oscar. I'm a fucking open book." 

The two males in the back broke out into disbelieving laughter, while the woman let out an indelicate snort. 

Ed shrugged at Darius, who was smirking. "How much further?" 

"Maybe ten minutes," Darius replied. "Don't want to bring the truck in too close, though, so we'll have to walk the last bit." He leant forward slightly, checking the sky. "Wait until it gets a bit darker before we head into the woods." 

Ed nodded. "We can break and eat," he decided, glancing out past Darius towards the slowly setting sun. "I assume you have some plan to catch Heinkel's attention?" 

"Of course." 

"Good." 

-0-

Darius' plan to catch Heinkel's attention turned out to be getting as close to the farm building as they could under the cover of the woods, then letting out a sort of croaking ribbit-sound that sounded suspiciously like 'Jerso'. 

Ed muffled his laughter against Darius' back. "Fucking shit. I missed you arseholes," he got out once he'd calmed down. 

"We missed you too, Ed," Heinkel said quietly from their right, and the three loaned West soldiers all jumped. 

Ed held out his fist and Heinkel knocked it with his own as he crouched down next to them. "Heinkel Potez," Ed murmured as introduction, "Oscar Pascale and the Max Ostwinds." Then he focussed on Heinkel. "What have we got?" 

"Map," Heinkel requested and Darius pulled out the blueprints of the complex, lighting up a small torch as Heinkel laid it out and they all crowded around. "Three sentries, one here and two here," he said, pointing to positions near the front and then back doors. "They're not very alert. Four in the bedrooms, two here, one here, one here." He pointed to the bedrooms he meant, all six of which were on the upper floor. "One man in the kitchen. Everyone else is out in the barn. Metal ceiling," he added, looking at Ed. "Can you do something with that?" 

Ed tilted his head to one side, recalling a particular conversation about using alchemy to effect magnetic attraction that Greed had started for nefarious purposes, which Ed had only realised _after_ he'd admitted it could be done. "Yes," he agreed, "but if anyone comes with, their weapons will be useless." 

The chimeras traded looks, then Heinkel reached back and grabbed his guns, which he handed over to Darius. Darius turned to Ed, one hand out. "Knife." 

Ed rolled his eyes. "Not an issue." 

Darius raised both eyebrows, because Ed had taken his jacket and butt cape off back at the truck, so there was nothing hiding the knife from Havoc that he'd attached to the back of his trousers. But then he shrugged and dropped his hand, clearly deciding Ed knew what he was doing. 

Ed nodded and looked back over the map. "Maxes, back door, the one in the kitchen, then watch that back staircase." 

"Yes, sir," they chorused grimly. 

"Darius, Oscar, front door, then clear out the bedrooms. Once all of you are clear, check the rest of the house, just in case." 

"You got it," Oscar agreed while Darius nodded grimly. 

Ed cast his gaze over all of them. "No kill shots." 

Darius and Heinkel both sighed, but the female Max hissed, "Are you _serious_?" and both her brother and Oscar were frowning at him. 

Ed met her stare. "No. Kill. Shots," he repeated. "You miss and hit something vital, can't save them, fine, that's one thing, but I don't do kill missions, and you're going to fucking respect that, or you can start walking back to West City. Clear?" 

"Crystal," female Max spat. 

"You know they're going to be aiming to kill, no matter your morals, right?" male Max pointed out. 

"Learn to duck," Ed retorted and Oscar muffled a choked sound behind his hand. "Just because your opponents are out for blood doesn't mean you need to be." He picked up the map and quickly folded it back up before handing it off to Darius. "Any other complaints about my methods?" 

Everyone shook their head. 

"Good. Head out." 

They all split up, Ed and Heinkel sticking to the woods as far as they could before crouching low and crossing the neglected fields to the barn. 

Ed stopped them behind a decaying wooden cart. "Why are so many in the barn?" he whispered. 

Heinkel glanced at him, lion-eyes gleaming in the light seeping past the closed barn doors. "Weapon drop at the Drachma border," he offered, speaking carefully so his whispery growl was clear. "Tomorrow evening." 

Ed raised his eyebrows at that. "They're not the only group who's going to be there, I bet," he murmured, and Heinkel's toothy grin was all the answer needed. "Awesome. Let's finish this so we can make their appointment, then." 

Heinkel rumbled a laugh behind him as Ed slipped out from behind the cart and approached the barn. He gave himself a moment to eye the doors off to one side of him, then clapped his hands together, envisioning the fucking _insane_ array he needed, before he pressed one hand against the wall in front of him, the other against his left leg. And then, because this wasn't a quick trick, he closed his eyes and _focussed_ , trusting Heinkel to watch his back. 

Magnetising two metal objects to attract one another was actually fairly easy, almost basic-level alchemy, save most people never thought of it. (Fuck, Ed probably never would have thought of it, except some arsehole he and Al'd come up against realised that it was an effective countermeasure when faced with a suit of armour and a kid with two automail limbs. Which had _sucked_.) But creating a magnetic field centred on a particular object, especially a field that was strong enough to reach two storeys and grab all the metal in the barn – except what was on Ed – without weakening, was a different kettle of fish. Not an _impossible_ kettle of fish, just a slightly more complicated one. 

Shouts from inside the barn announced his success, and Ed took a beat to shake off the drain of a large-scale transmutation, then followed Heinkel in, keeping low and ducking under his claws as he drew his knife, cutting across the back of the nearest arsehole's knees while he was still staring at the ceiling, before kicking up and knocking him out as his collapsing legs brought his head in range. 

By the time their opponents managed to gather themselves enough to retaliate, Ed and Heinkel had taken out about half of them, and the rest were next-to-helpless against Heinkel's claws and Ed's knife and automail leg. 

Once they were all unconscious, Heinkel shifted back to his human form and pulled his glasses from his pocket to put on. "Even the cars, Ed?" he complained, glancing up at the three vehicles that were attached to the ceiling. Two men were up there, too, their automail caught in the field. One of them seemed to have hit his head on the way up, because he was unconscious, but the other was, in turns, shouting for help and spewing vitriol at them. 

Ed shrugged. "Not that amazing of an alchemist, sorry. You want acts of god, find me a philosopher's stone." 

Heinkel snorted. "You wouldn't use it." 

"Damn right I wouldn't." He waved towards the ceiling. "That'll probably hold for a few hours yet, but let's drag this lot out, just in case I miscalculated." 

The chimera nodded and they set about dragging the unconscious bodies out of the barn, Ed using some rope he'd found to tie them together in groups of three. (A pair could work together to escape far easier than a triad, after all.) 

As the other four approached with their own unconscious targets, Ed caught Heinkel's arm and quietly ordered, "Tell Darius where you hid the car so he can move our bags over." 

Heinkel nodded. "You don't want to take them with us to the border," he assumed of the West City group. 

"I need them to clean this up, and I'd like to have both of you able to use your full abilities," Ed admitted; just because Grumman and Mustang knew both of his men were chimeras, didn't mean the rest of the military needed to know it, too. 

Heinkel sighed and nodded. "Yes, sir." 

Ed touched his shoulder and offered, "I also don't want to start hostilities with Drachma by turning this into an official military operation." 

"And what does that make us?" 

Ed snorted and turned back towards the barn, calling back, "I'm a loose cannon, of course." 

The laugh Heinkel let out was not pleasant. But, then, he and Darius should have known they were going to be flirting with disciplinary actions, following Ed around. 

Once they'd moved all the men – save the two with automail – out of the barn, Ed caught Oscar sneaking that way and shadowed him. As he reached the door, Ed drily offered, "You're going to lose anything metal in a second." 

Oscar jumped and whirled. "God! Ed, could you _not_ give me a heart attack?" 

"Don't exaggerate," Ed returned, before stepping into the barn and pointing up. 

Oscar peered cautiously through the doors, then proceeded to swear and take two quick steps back. "That shit's gonna fall on your head!" 

"Nah." Ed waved a careless hand at that, but stepped back out of the barn for Oscar's peace of mind. "It's still got enough charge for a few hours. But, yeah, you'll know when the magnetic field starts deteriorating, mostly because those vehicles are gonna be the first to go. Best to just stay out until everything's finished falling, I guess." 

"You realise you're a madman." 

Ed flashed him a grin to match, and Oscar rolled his eyes. 

A car horn blared and they turned towards the car Darius and Heinkel had unearthed. Heinkel was sitting in the driver's seat, Darius nowhere in sight, though Ed knew he was either in the boot or – more likely – laying along the backseat and covered in a blanket. "Ah." Ed offered Oscar a sheepish look. "Sorry, Heinkel wanted me to check something out since I'm–" he scowled, because it wasn't hard to pretend to be angry about this topic, even if it hadn't happened "–not as big as them, or some shit." Oscar started laughing. "Shut the fuck up." Ed huffed and crossed his arms over his chest as Oscar covered his mouth in a pathetic attempt to silence himself. "You suck. Anyway, I dunno how long it's gonna take – he was being shady, because he's an arse – so, you know, you got this?" He motioned towards the bound captives. "Heinkel said there's a phone inside the house you can use to call Pendleton, have them come out and lighten the load a bit so you can fit everyone in that truck." 

"Yeah, sure, we'll manage," Oscar agreed, revealing his grin when he moved his hand away from his mouth. 

"You still suck," Ed informed him, before leaving to join Heinkel and Darius (who was, indeed, laid out in the back). "Drive," he ordered, and didn't look back at the the mess they'd left for the three West City soldiers. 

-0-

Crashing the weapons drop went remarkably well, and Ed filled in the path the Drachmans had made while his team tied everyone up and snooped through the weapons. They were able to restock on ammunition, and there were some northern-area coats and blankets that would keep them from having to stop in anywhere while they continued following the trail of pro-Bradley groups up into the mountains closer to the border between the west and north areas. One of the Drachmans was also carrying one of Ed's new knives, and he grinned in victory as he confiscated it for his 'just in case' collection. 

They stopped in at the next town with a public-use phone and Heinkel called in the group so the military would pick them up, while Ed dropped two reports in the post box, one for Chris to pass on to Grumman, the other for Marie to pass on to Mustang. Then he rang the Hugheses, because he couldn't say when they'd be able to use a phone again, and he'd rather call too often, than not often enough. (Not that Elicia seemed to recognise the concept of 'too often' when it involved phone calls from Ed.) 

They spent the next month and a half cleaning up small groups all around the west area, dodging the military just because Ed didn't want to deal with the fall-out of all the messes they were leaving behind. 

When Chris' regular letter found them middle of May, it included a note from Grumman that said simply _'CALL ME'_ with a number that didn't match any in Central Command, so Ed wasn't surprised when it rang through to the bastard's home. 

" _What_?" he demanded when Grumman picked up, because they'd had to travel back into the small village from their camp just so he could ring back when Grumman was home. If they hadn't been in the middle of fucking _nowhere_ when Chris' message woman had caught up to them... 

_"Go north,"_ Grumman ordered without preamble, not even pretending to react to Ed's tone. _"One of the men you picked up outside Riviere dropped information about a group near Montmort. Suggested they had sights set on Briggs."_

" _Fuck_ ," Ed snarled, because any group that was eyeing Briggs was going to be a pain in the arse to take out. 

_"I'll have Armstrong send someone out to liaise with you."_

"Fine, yeah, whatever. We'll be there by the end of the week." He hung up, then stalked over to the car. "Holiday's over, kids," he said as he slid into the back. "Old man's sending us up to cover Briggs' arse." 

"Seriously?" Darius complained as Heinkel shifted the car into drive and turned them back towards their camp. When Ed's response was a scowl, Darius sighed. "Fuck. Where to?" 

"Montmort. Armstrong's going to send someone out to us." 

" _Fantastic_."

"Are we driving straight through?" Heinkel asked, because they'd taught Ed how to handle the car, which meant three drivers, which meant they didn't actually _need_ to stop anywhere, beyond switching drivers around and pee breaks and Ed transmuting petrol when they ran low. 

Ed closed his eyes and did some quick figuring of their food supplies. "Might as well. We've got enough to get us past the border, at least." 

"I want a holiday," Darius muttered and Ed kicked the back of his seat. "Yeah, I know, shut up. Fuck off." 

"Just so we're clear," Ed returned as they pulled up to their camp. 

Break-down didn't take long – had practically become rote for them, as many times as they'd had to stop for the night away from any hotels, of late – and they were on the road north within an hour of Ed ringing Grumman. Ed let Darius sleep first, taking the watch position in the passenger's seat while Heinkel drove, and quickly wrote up a report for Mustang, because fuck knew Grumman wouldn't pass on the change in location, and they'd pass a town he could drop it at in the afternoon. 

Once that was done, Ed settled in for a long drive. 

-0-

Falman ended up being their contact in Montmort, and Ed was willing to bet that Armstrong had done that in hopes that Ed would have a harder time just up and vanishing, leaving the clean-up behind. Judging by Falman's expression when he passed on the request that Ed and his team come back to Briggs after the pro-Bradley group was dealt with, he didn't expect to have any more luck keeping tabs on him and the chimeras than the western soldiers had. 

Ed _almost_ felt bad when the last of the pro-Bradley group had been tied up and they made their escape. 

Since they were in the north, Ed and his team turned their attention to hunting down the groups up there, focussing on the western end until they'd gathered sufficient intel on the rest of the area to skirt around North City and tackle the eastern half. 

Judging by Grumman's notes – which were delivered by what appeared to be Armstrong's people more often than Chris', Ed couldn't help but notice, not that he'd really expected else while in the north – Major General Armstrong was in turns furious and impressed by Ed's team's skills in avoiding the Briggs troops she'd sent after them. (As if her many civilian spies couldn't have served to keep fucking tabs on them.) It was an irritating little game of cat and mouse, which kept Ed and the chimeras moving long past when they would have set up camp for the night, and devising traps to leave in their wake. 

Things were unusually quiet on the Briggs front for Ed's birthday, so he took the chance to ring the Hugheses and Winry in the morning, then spent the rest of the day being lazy with his team, who had been quite happy to follow suit and take the day off. 

The next day, however, the Briggs soldiers caught up with them, hands up in surrender and expressions grim. 

Ed relaxed from his fighting stance, not quite stupid enough to put his knife away, but thrown by the change in the pattern of their meetings; usually, by now, someone had fired a warning shot or one of the Briggs shitheads had called something about a dinner party. (Okay, that had only been the once, but still. It had almost worked, which made it memorable.) "Talk!" he demanded. 

"Word from the Führer: You're to report back to Central Command immediately." 

Ed stiffened and looked towards Darius and Heinkel, both of whom frowned back at him with the same amount of confused worry as was churning in Ed's stomach; Grumman wouldn't order them back to Central unless something went seriously wrong. He turned back to the Briggs group, who had shouldered their weapons and stopped just out of Ed's punching range. "What happened?" 

The man in the lead pulled out a newspaper – Ed recognised it as the Northern Starr, which he always picked up a copy of when they had the chance to stop in a town, for all it was a rag of a paper – and glaring out from the front page was the article title: _'TERRORISTS CHALLENGE FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST WITH TRAIN BOMBING'_.

Something sick started up Ed's throat as he rushed forward and snatched the paper from the Briggs soldier's hand, barely registering the man's flinch as he straightened the page and quickly read through the article. 

Apparently, while Ed and his team were enjoying their one-day holiday, one of the pro-Bradley groups – clearly having heard about Ed calling their groups terrorists, not that Ed had expected that label to stay secret for long – had got it into their fucking heads to bomb a train heading south, killing more than half the passengers and causing the whole rail system to be shut down in fear of another bombing. The group had signed their work – they were calling themselves Bradley's Avengers, because they were fucking _shits_ – and left a message declaring the bombing was a response to Ed hunting down their brethren in the west and north. 

Which had, of course, spawned questions from the reporter about what Ed was up to, etc, etc, etc; ever since he'd come out in support of Grumman, they'd get the occasional reporter trying to drag his name through the mud, and since he had a habit of destroying public property, there was a lot of dirt to bring up. 

"Well, fuck," Darius said, reading over his shoulder. "Time to go back to the drawing table, I guess?" 

But Ed wasn't paying attention, his mind caught on a brief mention in the article that some of the victims had only just graduated from the academy. He turned to the page with the list of victims, barely hearing Heinkel's, "Ed, _don't_."

Two names jumped out at him: Rebecca Flanders and Nicholas Halberstadt, Jr. His _squad_.

Rebecca, whose father had remarried a woman younger than her, and she'd joined the military to get as fucking far away from that toxic environment as she could. Nick, with his struggling mother and his sisters and brother that he'd joined the military to support and his _fear of trains_.

The clinical part of his mind helpfully observed, as he tried to draw a breath and _couldn't_ , that he was having an attack. (It had been a while; how nice.) The rest of him was split between screaming internally and trying to get his lungs to draw air. 

Familiar hands curled over Ed's shoulders from behind, while another set caught his hands, pulling the paper away. " _Breathe_ , kid," Heinkel prompted, his thumbs pressing a slow pattern against Ed's wrists. "We've got you, just breathe." 

Ed dragged in a breath that tore at his insides the whole way into his lungs. The second breath went a little easier, but the third caught on a sob, and he didn't even realise he'd reached for Heinkel until he was pulled into his arms, hugged tight while Darius rubbed at his back and he fucking _fell apart_ , because this was _his fault_. Because Nick and Rebecca and a fuckton of other people were dead because of _him_.

He'd wanted to fix Amestris, but look where that'd got him. 

"It's not your fault, Ed," Darius rumbled, apparently reading his mind. "You didn't set that bomb, it's not your fault." 

Ed peered over his shoulder and opened his mouth to argue. 

"Shut up," Darius ordered, and Ed's mouth snapped shut in spite of himself. "It's not. You wanna fix this, we get them back. Rip their base down around their ears." 

Oh, there was a part of Ed that was very attached to that idea, and damn his no killing mantra, but he swallowed and shook his head, tugging away from Heinkel so he could pick up the fallen newspaper. "I have a funeral to attend," he murmured, Nick and Rebecca's names standing out against the list, as if someone had bolded and underlined them just for him. 

"Where's the funeral?" Heinkel asked, his hand reaching over Ed's shoulder and pointing to the listing at the top. "Civilian or military?" 

"Military," Ed breathed, and it _ached_ ; they'd only just graduated over the weekend. 

"Central," Heinkel read off for him. "Funeral's on Saturday, memorial's on Sunday." 

"It's going to be tight," Darius commented, because that gave them just under forty hours to make the funeral. Which they could do, easy, if Ed was able to drive, but he knew himself well enough to admit he shouldn't be trusted behind the wheel, and his team very obviously knew it, too. 

"We can do it," Heinkel insisted, his hand warm on Ed's shoulder. 

"Sir," an unfamiliar voice called, and Ed closed his eyes as he realised the Briggs soldiers were still there. (Of course they were. _Fuck_.) "We were given orders to escort you to Central City in time for the funerals." 

Grumman. Fuck. Of _course_ he'd do everything possible to get Ed back in time. Ed _hated_ it when the bastard showed he cared. 

"Ed?" Darius called. 

Ed forced himself to straighten, to pull himself back together and open his eyes and fucking _face this_. "Yeah," he tried, but it came out cracked, so he cleared his throat. "Yes." He stepped past Darius – blocking him from sight, fucking _protecting_ him, and Ed had the best fucking team in the whole damn country, even if he wanted to punch them both more often than not – and met the understanding gaze of the Briggs soldier in charge. "We'll accept that escort, thank you." 

The man nodded. "I'll have one of my men bring your car down after us; our vehicles were made to cross difficult terrain, so we won't have to stick to roads." 

Ed looked back at his team. "Necessities," he tried to order, but the word came out flat. 

Heinkel and Darius traded looks. "I've got it," Darius promised, before leaving for their car. 

Heinkel came up next to him, a solid presence that helped steady Ed in a way that he hadn't known he'd needed. 

'Fuck. Pull yourself together, Edward.'

The Briggs soldiers didn't say anything as they led Ed and his team over to one of their vehicles and ushered them in. The things were slightly roomier than their car, but it was still a tight squeeze in the back, given how fucking _large_ Darius and Heinkel were, but it was also pathetically comforting, and Ed felt himself dozing off on Darius' shoulder soon after they started moving. 

"We're not going anywhere," Darius murmured, and Ed wrapped that promise around himself like armour against the nightmares that dragged him down into slumber.

.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has off-screen sexual relations between Ed and the chimeras. If you're feeling squicked... First off, how the hell'd you make it this far? Second off, it's _off-screen_ , you'll live.
> 
> (You know, it sort of just occurred to me, but this world doesn't share our history, and being military-centric is not the same as being homophobic, despite how often in our world the two have been related. Which means I can make the Amestris military cool with homosexual relationships. XD)
> 
> There is another panic attack in this chapter, and Ed talks a bit about the very first one he had.
> 
> Unrelated: There's a scene in this chapter from an unknown PoV, which wrote itself and fit into the plot far too well to turn it into a side-story. You'll see. (Or maybe you won't. I dunno. XP)
> 
> There are _two_ side-stories for this chapter, which can be found, as always, on Archive of Our Own or LiveJournal. One is Darius/Ed/Heinkel smut, but the other is a scene from Roy's PoV. (They are labelled to differentiate.) As a reminder, you may wish to read the whole chapter first, to avoid any confusion.
> 
> LAST! I've put together a guide for Ed's squad, which you can find [here on Google Docs](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1_iMNEvJJ_wzotutKRK6-dDQ17JSDB5R25naArPpyYrQ/edit).

They got into Central in plenty of time to check into their preferred hotel before the funeral. Ed took a shower while Darius and Heinkel sorted out sleeping arrangements – the problem with having two annoyingly large team members, was that they didn't have enough people to request a second room, but the arseholes couldn't comfortably share a bed unless they were fucking, so Ed always ended up having to share with one of them – and he felt a bit more more like himself when he stepped out of the bathroom, one towel wrapped loosely around his waist while he used another to dry his hair. 

It was telling of the general mood that Darius didn't crack a joke about his half-naked state, and Ed sighed as he let his hair drop damply to his shoulders and turned to the formal uniform and funeral sash one of the Briggs soldiers had unearthed from the back of their vehicle when they'd stopped outside the hotel; clearly, Grumman wasn't the only one who'd had a hand in ensuring Ed could attend the funeral, given the fact that there was no way they could have got it from anywhere other than Briggs, with the tight timing. 

Ugh, he didn't want to owe Armstrong any gratitude. Not after spending two and a half months dodging her soldiers. 

Not even bothering to pretend modesty, Ed set about changing, quietly commenting, "I want intel." 

"Both of us?" Heinkel asked. Briggs had unearthed formal uniforms for them, too, but neither had bothered to change yet; they knew him far too well. 

"I have no interest in cooling our heels in Central," Ed replied. "We're leaving as soon as we have the car." 

"Yes, sir," they chorused, and Ed could never _not_ be grateful that they didn't question him. 

That said... "You should visit the Hugheses before we leave," Darius pointed out. "Go after the funeral, detox on pie or something." 

Ed clapped his hands together and touched his hair, drying it with a brief thought, then pulled it back into his usual ponytail. "Fine. I'll meet you back here after dinner." 

Heinkel sighed and stepped up behind Ed. "Your hair might actually be long enough to pull it all back," he explained as he undid the tie and lightly combed his fingers through his hair, soothing out the tangles from the alchemic energy. 

Ed huffed even as he closed his eyes, unable to help but lean back into the gentle touch. "Who fucking cares what my hair looks like?" he muttered. 

"No one," Darius replied. "Shut up and let him fix it." 

Ed huffed again, but it was for show; he wasn't certain he had a large enough store of energy right then to do more than go through the least of the motions of arguing about his 'unprofessional' bangs. (Parnall's phrase, not his team's, but the implication was the same.) Anyway, it felt nice; as few barriers as the three of them had in terms of what physical contact was or wasn't allowed, helping Ed manage his long hair had never figured in on either side. 

(Swear to fuck, you sleep with someone once – okay, shut up, more than once – and you're suddenly finding comfort in their touch and craving it when you're stressed. Ugh. He really wished he had the energy to get angrier about that.) 

When Heinkel finally stepped back, Ed had to reach up and touch his face, feeling strangely naked without the familiar brush of his bangs. 

"Okay," Darius said as Ed headed for the bathroom, "I'm going to be the first to say it: You look fucking _weird_ , Ed." 

Staring at himself in the mirror, his face fully bare for the first time in...ages, Ed found himself looking at a slightly younger Dwarf in the Flask, as he'd looked after he'd swallowed 'god'. 

_'Or, more accurately,'_ Ed realised tiredly, _'I look like a young Hohenheim.'_

Fuck, he really was his father's son, wasn't he? That was depressing. 

Still, as wrong as it felt – as disturbing as he _looked_ – he did look more professional with his hair all pulled back, and this was a formal affair, so he stepped back out the the bathroom without fussing with his hair and made for the darker formal jacket. 

"Ed?" Heinkel asked. 

Ed shook his head. "It's fine. Just for today." 

He didn't need to look up at them to know the chimeras were trading looks over his head. 

He fastened the black sash under his right shoulder marking, then picked up his hat. "I'm off," he offered as he settled the hat on top of his head, the fit almost too snug, with his ponytail. 

"We'll walk you to the graveyard," Darius said. 

Ed nodded, didn't even try lying to himself that he wouldn't appreciate the company, and they left the hotel together. (He was sure it was quite the picture, two hulking men in civilian clothing escorting a boy in military formal attire. Like he'd stolen someone's uniform and they were dragging him in to return it. 

(Some days, it struck him: He really was far too young for the military.) 

They left him at the gate, and Ed stepped easily past the two military guards standing to either side. It wasn't hard to find the group of mourners, a huddle of dark blue, interspersed with the black of their sashes and the dark suits and dresses of the few civilians. There was a clear structure among those in attendance, with ranking officers standing near the heads of the empty holes, while enlisted soldiers stood at the foot, civilians mixed in with the latter group. 

"Ed?" someone called, and he looked up to find Lois and Taylor standing together with what was left of their squad in the enlisted section. 

He moved towards them, half-grateful to know someone there, other than Grumman (who stood surrounded by grim-faced generals), half-wishing for the sea of silence he'd find among the officers. "Hi," he offered, and it came out flat. 

They were all quiet for a moment, the two empty spaces in their circle like a bleeding wound. 

And then Lisa Coanda stepped forward and hugged him. "We didn't think you'd come," she said, and her voice broke on the last word. Because she and Rebecca had been fast friends, and if Ed was hurting, he couldn't even _begin_ to imagine how she must be feeling. 

Ed hugged her back as tightly as he dared, squeezing his eyes closed. "Of course I came," he whispered. 

"We weren't sure you'd heard," Taylor offered quietly as Lisa pulled away and wiped at her eyes. "I thought about ringing you to tell you, but I don't have a number for you, and there's no number on file for Brigadier General Mustang, either." 

Ed shook his head. "They don't have a line out to Ishval," he replied, and he sounded a bit more like himself, even if he still felt slightly numb. "And I almost didn't, but Major General Armstrong managed to hunt us down. Got in about three hours ago." 

A few people shifted, turned towards the building they would be bringing the coffins from, and Ed realised it was time. 

"You three should be with the officers," Sabine Hamilcar whispered, and Ed noticed a strip of bandaging slapped over the left side of her face, covering her jaw, a portion of her cheek, and stretching under her chin. It was a fair guess that she'd been headed down south, too, had been one of the lucky ones. (Was it lucky? Ed knew enough about survivor's guilt to know 'lucky' was as much a curse as a blessing, in some ways.) 

Ed traded looks with Lois and Taylor, and it was clear that both of them were as interested in standing on the other side of the graves as he was, but they would follow his lead. (Being the ranking officer really fucking sucked, sometimes.) 

Ed turned and settled into parade rest, the stance strangely settling, as much as he'd chaffed at practising it at the academy. "We're already where we belong," he offered. 

They were all quiet for a moment before falling in around him, Lois and Taylor to either side of him, the privates lining up behind them, everyone standing just far enough apart that anyone standing behind them would still be able to see. The formation was familiar, if slightly looser than they'd ever practised on the academy parade grounds, and everyone was clearly uncomfortable with filling the two empty spaces, so they remained. 

They stood still through all seven funerals – only four had been recently graduated privates, two from their squad, two from squad C; one of the others had been heading back to his post after leave, while the other two had been returning from assignment in the west – unflinching at the bursts of gunfire or the sounds of a couple of the civilians around them crying. 

When the last shovelful of dirt had fallen, they all circled around again, huddling together like it would ease the ache of absence. 

"I'm intending to go to the memorial tomorrow, if anyone else wanted to come," Taylor offered. 

The others all nodded, but Ed winced and offered, "If I'm still in town." 

They all looked at him. "You're leaving so soon?" Omar Hotspur asked, his voice small. 

"You're going to hunt them down, aren't you?" Lois guessed, and eyes widened around their squad. 

" _Good_ ," Sabine snarled, holding up a loose fist between them, her hand wrapped in bandages that stood out, far too white, against the dark sleeve of her uniform. "You find them and you fucking _make them pay_ , Elric." 

Around them, their squad let out noises of agreement, loss making them vicious. 

Ed pressed his lips together and gently pressed one gloved fist against hers. 

"Lieutenant Colonel Elric," called a voice that Ed did _not_ want to fucking deal with today. 

Around him, his squad stiffened and saluted, a slightly disjointed chorus of, "Sir!"s greeting the Führer. 

Ed spun around and snarled, " _What_?"

" _Ed_!" someone hissed. 

Grumman's expression was disapproving, but instead of chastising Ed, he said, "Brigadier General Mustang asked that I pass on orders that you are not to leave Central City before he gets here." 

"Fuck him," was Ed's immediate response, earning him a chorus of groans and gasps from his squad. But then the rest of the message registered and he frowned. "Wait, he's coming to Central?" 

"That's what he said," Grumman agreed mildly. 

Yeah, Ed was going to stick with his original reaction: "Fuck him. I'm not going to sit around and wait for his slow arse." 

Grumman sighed. "He also suggested his resignation would be on my desk if you were missing," he offered. 

Ed stiffened. That had to be a ploy by Grumman. Mustang wouldn't–

Would he? He'd almost given up once already, and Ed had had to drag him back. Ed said he'd support him, but if he disobeyed a direct order to stay put, would that be sufficient reason to disbelieve his promise? Would that be enough to throw Mustang back into depression? It shouldn't be – Ed was far from the centre of the bastard's universe – but... 

Could Ed fucking chance it? 

He tightened his fists at his sides enough to hurt and squeezed his eyes shut. "I understand, sir," he forced out, the words cutting their way past his lips like knives. 

"Good. Take a few days, let your team relax," Grumman suggested, and Ed opened his eyes so he could glare at the bastard's placid tone. Grumman shrugged. "I'll have the information they're looking for ready for you once Mustang releases you." 

In other words, behave and keep your head down, and I'll hand over everything you need to destroy this group. 

Ed bit back the urge to tell Grumman he was a bastard, instead forcing out, "Yes, sir." 

Grumman smiled, and Ed _really fucking wanted to punch him_. "Wonderful. I do so enjoy our chats, Lieutenant Colonel." 

Oh, there was no way Ed was going to let that one go without a response. "Fuck you, sir." 

" _Edward_!" someone hissed from behind him; Lois, he was fairly certain. 

Grumman's smile widened. "Ah, I should probably warn you," he started, and Ed narrowed his eyes at him, "we were able to keep the press away from the funeral, but they'll be at the memorial. Do consider forming a response to their questions in advance, if you intend to attend." 

Ed blinked. The press? Newspapers? Great, that was just what he needed in his life. 

Or was it? Ed frowned, remembering the response to his pro-Grumman interview, how public opinion had fucking _flipped_ overnight. 

These fuck-shits had brought their shadow fight out into the public eye. They'd tried to drag Ed's name through the mud, tried to put this on his shoulders. And maybe he'd given them the push to step their terrorism up, but Darius was right: Ed hadn't been the one to plant that bomb. He hadn't been the one to decide terrifying the country and bringing everything to a standstill for a day was the proper response to Ed capturing – almost without fatality – their fellows. 

Hadn't he said it himself? Sometime words were more powerful than alchemy, when it came to holding people together. 

He focussed on Grumman again, whose eyes were gleaming behind his glasses, like he knew he had Ed exactly where he wanted him. "You're a manipulative bastard," Ed informed him, and Grumman's chuckle covered the noises his squad made. Ed held out his hand. "I need whatever their message was. The actual thing, not whatever bullshit you passed on to the media for them to focus on." 

"They have the actual thing," Grumman replied, the way the skin around his eyes pulled tight suggesting that hadn't gone to plan, as he pulled a folded piece of paper out of the inner pocket of his dress jacket. "Copies were left at each of the main city newspaper offices shortly after the bomb exploded. They were, however, warned away from publishing it verbatim." 

"And you wonder why everyone hates you," Ed muttered as he opened the paper to read it over. And, yeah, he could see pretty quickly why the military had squashed any exact printings, as it contained the names of Ed and his team, as well as the names of those soldiers who had helped him in both the west and the north. It was also heavy with language that was far from family-friendly – the sort that Ed regularly spewed – and some pretty graphic imagery of what they envisioned the train would look like after the explosion. 

But the part that caught Ed's attention – the part that hadn't been in the article he'd read – was the line: _'The Fullmetal Alchemist calls us terrorists, but isn't HE the terrorist, supporting this Führer who won his position by standing on the shoulders of those who killed Bradley?'_

"I love how I'm the terrorist instead of you," Ed muttered as his squad gave up on decorum and crowded around to read the message themselves. "And isn't it common knowledge that Bradley won the Führership after the mysterious death of his predecessor?" 

"Please avoid opening any dialogues concerning how my seat is usually passed on, Lieutenant Colonel," Grumman replied, tone dry. "I'm not nearly so difficult to kill as our previous Führer was." 

"Hm." 

"Wait, how did Oscar get involved?" Lois asked, pointing at his name. 

"He helped me out west," Ed explained, before tapping a finger against the list of names. "Most of these were one-off assistances," he added, glancing up at Grumman and raising his eyebrows; they had a mole, clearly. Which had been expected, and was pretty much the whole reason they'd been so careful with lines of communication, why he had never put in any of his written reports – save the one to Mustang – where his team was headed next. 

Grumman shook his head; they hadn't been able to find the mole yet. 

Well, that was worrisome. Ed refolded the message, ignoring a complaint from over his shoulder, and slipped it away. "Fine. Was that all?" 

"Yes," Grumman decided. "I expect to see you at the memorial, Lieutenant Colonel." 

Ed sighed. "Yes, sir." 

Grumman nodded. "Second Lieutenants, Privates," he offered to Ed's squad, before stepping past them. 

"Oh my god," Lois complained and her forehead thumped against Ed's shoulder. 

"You're insane," Sabine informed him flatly, but there was a tired glimmer of amusement in her eyes when Ed glanced over at her, absently reaching back to pat Lois' arm. 

Ed shrugged his free shoulder. "You knew that." 

"I don't think my heart can take your causal relationship with your commanding officers," Taylor complained. "I need a drink. Anyone else?" 

"Anyone _other_ than Ed, you mean," Lois reminded them drily, straightening and patting Ed's arm back. 

"You might be surprised how many people will serve me alcohol," Ed returned, and someone choked on a laugh. "But, no. I haven't seen Elicia in four months, so I'm gonna go over there." 

His squad made noises of understanding, and Lois said, "Tell her hi for me, will you?" 

"Yeah. I'll see you lot tomorrow?" 

They all made noises of parting and Ed started towards the gate, leaving them to sort out their drinking plans without him. He hadn't got more than two feet away, however, when Stephan called, "Hey, Ed?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Your sister. Her dad served, right? Died in uniform?" 

Ed couldn't help but look past the fresh graves, towards where he knew Hughes' grave sat. "Yeah. Why?" 

"Can you ask about how the survivor benefits for family are?" 

Ed wasn't the only one to shoot Stephan a sharp look; he and Nick had been of a pair, joining the military to provide for their families, and with Nick dead... "The Halberstadts?" he guessed. 

Stephan's throat bobbed and he lifted his chin slightly, like he was facing down disapproval. "Yeah. I dunno if I can live with myself, if it turns out Nick's death left his family hanging." 

Ed nodded. "I'll ask," he promised. Fuck, he'd happily send part of his own pay cheque their way. Even when he'd been constantly paying for his automail because he was always breaking it, he'd had too much money, what with his alchemic research account and his regular pay from the military, which was why he'd set up that trust account for Al. After his promotion, his pay cheque had only grown, and while he was still funnelling money into the account for Al – despite his brother's attempts to make him stop, given he wouldn't be able to touch it while in Xing – he was also sharing travel expenses with two other men, and they hadn't been paying for more than the basics for months now. He had the money, why not give it to someone who needed it, right? 

Of course, judging by the expressions of his squad, if it turned out the military's survivor pay was for shit, Ed wasn't going to be the only one sending money to Nick's family (they'd probably have done the same for Rebecca's family, if she hadn't made it perfectly clear she wanted nothing more to do with her father and stepmother), and, fuck, how the hell had he got such an awesome squad? How, out of all the people who decided to go to the academy, had Ed ended up with this group? 

_And why,_ Ed couldn't help but think as he left the graveyard, _would **anyone** want to hurt one of them?_

If there was an answer to that, Ed didn't have it, didn't _want_ it. 

His mind turned to making plans for the fuck-shits who'd bombed the train – just because he had to wait for Mustang to show up so he could go, didn't mean he couldn't start planning now – debating what terrible things he'd do to them, and it probably should have concerned him, but he didn't _care_. He was tired of months of hunting down splinter cells, of shifting through rumours and half-truths for the chance to stop a group before they could hit another military instalment or civilian storehouse, of being constantly on the move because they were _everywhere_ and he only had one team. He just wanted this to be _done_ , so he didn't have to worry about another train blowing up, so he could finally get down to Ishval where he fucking _belonged_.

He wanted the chance to build something, instead of always tearing things down. 

"Big brother Ed?" a voice called, and Ed's head jerked around, looking towards the source. He hadn't realised he'd made it to the park nearest the Hugheses' flat already, but clearly he had, because he was surrounded by polite green and the sounds of children screeching in glee. And there was Elicia, her face breaking out in the widest fucking smile as she clambered down the monkey bars she'd been climbing. "You're home!" she shouted as she hit the ground and ran towards him. 

Ed's real knee buckled, and he let his automail leg lower him safely to the ground, catching her in a hug as she reached him. "Elicia," he whispered into her hair, his voice coming out choked, and he hadn't fucking realised how much he'd needed to see her, to _hold_ her, because she was one of the few things in his life that wasn't wrapped up in the taint of the military and everything that was attached to that. 

"Big brother?" Elicia whispered, her tone worried. 

"I think," Gracia said as she knelt next to them on the dirt path and wrapped an arm around Ed's shoulders, squeezing the one farther from her gently, "that your big brother has had a long day." 

More like a series of long months, really, but Ed swallowed and whispered, "Yeah. That." He loosened his hold a little bit and eyed Elicia's worried stare. "I think I want some ice cream. You with me?" 

Her responding grin did a lot more for Ed's aching heart than he suspected the ice cream would. "Yeah! Big Brother needs ice cream, Mama! We have to!" 

"I think that sounds like an excellent idea," Gracia agreed. "Go say goodbye to your friends." 

"Kay!" 

Ed let her go and watched after her as she dashed back towards the playground, calling out to the other kids she'd been playing with. 

Gracia touched his elbow. "Can you stand?" she asked. 

"Yeah." He started to get up, and while his real leg seemed like it would hold, he didn't complain when she helped him up and then stayed next to him, a pillar of strength, should he need it. 

Gracia glanced at him – up, slightly, Ed realised with some surprise; he'd been growing again, and he wished he could draw up the proper glee at that – her eyes sad. "I recognise that uniform, even if Elicia doesn't," she offered quietly. 

Ed swallowed and nodded, reaching up to touch the black sash over his chest. "Two members of my squad were on the train," he replied, just as quietly. 

Gracia squeezed his arm. "That still doesn't make it your fault." 

"I'm trying to remember that," Ed admitted. 

Elicia ran back to them, so fantastically happy, and when she stopped next to Ed and held her arms up to be carried, there was no way he could have denied her. So he picked her up and followed after Gracia to the ice cream place Elicia preferred, letting her happy chatter as she filled him in on what he'd missed since he'd called on his birthday push away the lingering guilt and grief, at least for a little bit. 

At least with Elicia he could still be happy. 

-0-

Ed and Elicia were sitting on the couch, Ed reading from one of her favourite books, while Gracia started dinner in the kitchen, when someone delivered a pattern of knocks on the front door. 

"Uncle Roy!" Elicia realised as a key turned in the lock. She scrambled off of the couch and ran out into the hallway, moving like her life depended on it. 

Ed blinked, confused. Mustang was here? But, from the way Grumman had been speaking, he shouldn't show up for a couple days. 

"Hello, Princess," Mustang greeted. And he sounded a little tired, but also as happy to see Elicia as Ed had been, because she was precious and Ed knew they'd both do anything for her smile. 

Elicia, of course, started chattering happily about how glad she was to see him and did he know her big brother was here and so forth, and Ed felt a smile pull at his mouth as Mustang laughed. 

Gracia appeared in the doorway that led into the kitchen, a stirring spoon in one hand. "Go see if he needs help," she said, not quite an order, but the intent was there. 

Ed sighed and got up, setting the book aside, then stepped out into the hall as Gracia went back into the kitchen. He found Mustang still standing in the entrance hall, dressed in his uniform, which was surprisingly rumpled, his arms full of Elicia. The man looked tired, despite his fond smile, and it occurred to Ed that he'd had an even longer commute into Central than Ed had, unless he'd somehow managed to get someone to ignore Grumman's orders and get a train to run. (That was more something Ed would have done than Mustang, though; he usually obeyed rules from his superiors, unless they meant the death of someone he cared about, which wasn't the case here.) 

Mustang glanced up and caught Ed's stare, his smile falling into something quieter, more obviously tired, a gleam of concern in his eyes. "Ed," he offered in greeting. 

Ed blinked, momentarily thrown by the use of his nickname, before he realised what Mustang was offering him: The chance to leave the military outside the door, to be _friends_ , instead of commander and subordinate, inside the Hugheses' flat. He swallowed down a confused lump in his throat. "Roy," he managed, before shaking his head and focussing on Elicia. "Hey, why don't we let your uncle get his boots off?" 

Elicia sighed, but allowed herself to be set down by a clearly grateful Mustang. Of course, once on the ground, she spotted the suitcase that he must have set down when he'd picked her up, and started towards it. "Did you bring me anything?" she asked hopefully, and Ed would bet good money she was used to getting gifts when Mustang visited. 

"There's a doll in there for you," Mustang agreed, and she gleefully set about opening it. "Also, a box for your brother." 

Ed stiffened. "Wait, what?" 

Mustang glanced up at him as he shrugged off his rumpled jacket, revealing an equally rumpled white button-up. "Jean told me to pass something on for him." 

Ed frowned. "Havoc?" he translated – Mustang had stopped in East City long enough to drop by Havoc's? – before shaking his head. "I thought you weren't going to show up for a couple days." 

Mustang sighed, but before he could respond, Elicia hurried over to Ed, her new doll clutched against her chest, while she held out a box that was about the size of Ed's fist. "What is it?" she pleaded as Ed crouched and took it from her. 

Ed had a pretty good idea, given the size, so he tilted his head slightly and gave the box a gentle shake. The objects inside clicked and rattled around tellingly, and he offered her a vaguely confused look while she bounced in place hopefully. "I dunno," he offered, shaking the box a bit harder, now he knew for sure that it was safe. 

"Open it!" Elicia ordered. 

"You sure? What if it's roaches or something?" 

Elicia shot him a look that said she knew he was messing with her, now. 

Ed felt his mouth turn with a smile and he quickly opened the box, revealing the pile of small diamonds he'd expected. 

"Pretty!" Elicia declared, staring into the box with the widest eyes, before looking up at Ed hopefully. "Can I have one?" 

Ed pretended to think about that for a moment, before tilting the box back towards himself and shifting through until he found one that was heart-shaped – and, one of these days, he really needed to ask Havoc where he was getting them, because there had been some shaped ones in the first batch, too – then held it between them. "One," he promised and her whole face lit up. "But not by itself. Go ask your mum for a bit of chain or string and I'll make you a necklace." 

Elicia darted past him with a gleeful shout, already calling out to Gracia about needing something for a necklace. 

"More alchemy ingredients?" Mustang guessed as Ed stood up, slipping the diamond for Elicia into his right pocket. 

He nodded as he picked out a couple of diamonds to drop in the left pocket of his formal trousers, then closed up the box; the diamonds had proven extremely useful, since it wasn't particularly comfortable to sleep in clothing that had carbon woven in, so Ed could sleep in unaltered clothing when they were camping out, and could quickly grab a handful of diamonds to use if trouble found them. (Which it had, often, while they were in the north, given Briggs' little games.) On the other hand, grabbing a handful in the middle of a fight meant he'd occasionally drop one or two, and they couldn't always find them after, so he'd rung Havoc up the month before and asked him to have some for Ed next time he could stop by. 

"Seriously," he said, trying to keep his voice casual, but it came out a little too flat, and he resisted a grimace as he continued, "I thought I was going to be stuck here for a week." 

Mustang sighed again and motioned towards the doorway that led to the living room. "I'd like to sit down," he commented, and Ed huffed, but led the way into the living room, dropping heavily into the couch. Mustang settled tiredly into the armchair that he usually claimed, before saying, "Given that the train aren't expected to start running again until Monday, I expected the same, but Jean came down from East, said he was headed for Central and needed a second driver." 

Ed scoffed. "Right. He went down to Ishval for a second driver." 

"Resembool," Mustang corrected. "Marie and her husband came down to get me as soon as they heard about the bombing on the radio." 

Ed's breath caught. "What?" 

"You have some extremely loyal neighbours, Full–Ed," Mustang commented, a tired smile playing around his lips. "They were afraid you might get punished because the bombers were blaming you for their actions." 

Ed shook his head. "Fu– _No_. Shi– Ugh." He dropped back against the couch; it was so difficult to be properly emphatic when he couldn't use half of his favourite words. "I hope you told them they were being stupid." 

"I did assure them that the military couldn't pin any blame on you for the actions of others, no matter their reasons for violence." 

"And then you came anyway? How reassuring," Ed muttered. 

Mustang caught his glower with a gaze that was far too fucking understanding. "I knew you were thinking of doing something stupid." 

"What the f– What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Ed demanded, straightening and turning a proper glare on the bastard. 

Mustang didn't let up on his stare, just calmly stated, "I recognised some of the names on the casualty list, Edward. Two in particular: Privates Flanders and Halberstadt." 

" _So_?!" Ed shouted, the word tearing its way out. 

Mustang didn't so much as twitch. "Revenge." 

Ed flinched, looked away from Mustang. "Shut up. You don't get to– You–"

Ed didn't even hear him move, flinched back when Mustang settled carefully onto the couch next to him, hands resting lightly on his shoulders. "I'm returning a favour," he murmured, and Ed looked up into eyes that had seen loss, had blamed himself for his part in the death of someone he hadn't even realised was at risk. "Ed, don't. Don't become them. We've both seen what happens when you lose yourself to that." 

Ed shook his head. "Then what?" he whispered, and his voice cracked. "Keep tossing them in prison in ones and twos? What happens when their person in the inside starts freeing them? What if they bomb–" His lungs stuttered warningly and he squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his jaw; fuck him, he was _not_ having a fucking attack in front of Mustang. 

(Easier said than done; the mere thought of an incoming attack just strengthened it, and fighting against it to keep Mustang from finding out...Well. Ed should have known _that_ was just going to make it worse.) 

" _Breathe_ , Ed," Mustang said, the words more a comfort than an order, his hands on Ed's shoulders two steadying points of contact. "What are the base elements of an adult human?" 

The _what_?

But his mind was already forming the list for him, and his next breath came almost without his notice, as did the one after it, as though he'd just needed to focus on something else, let his body manage what his conscious mind was getting in the way of. "Oh," he breathed out. 

"Some of my aunt's employees suffered from panic attacks," Mustang offered when Ed peeked up at him from behind his bangs, and he felt his eyes widen in surprise. "One, Elizabeth, got flustered particularly easy. I thought it was fun to rile her up, until the first time I pushed her too far and she started gasping; I think I was more terrified than she was." He offered a smile that was more self-deprecation than anything else and it was...oddly soothing, not quite a promise that the bastard wasn't going to hold this over Ed's head, but something similar. "I never riled her up again, but she taught me how to help if I was there when she had another attack." 

Ed nodded, drew in a breath that shuddered all the way down; he could leave it at that, leave Mustang without an explanation, but... "I woke up, after Al and I lost each other," he offered. "Didn't know where I was, no sign of Al, I thought–" His abdomen had been a massive spot of agony, because his wound from the fallen beam – the doctor the chimeras had found had had to open it back up to fix the internal damage that Ed had missed in his desperate attempt to save his own life – had torn open at his sudden motion, and Al hadn't immediately told him off for whatever stupid stunt he'd pulled, and Ed had been hit with a crippling certainty that Al was _gone_ , which had translated into an inability to breathe, like his body was shutting down in response to the fact that he was fucking _alone_ in the world, because what the fuck did he have to live for without his brother? 

"Heinkel," he choked out, grabbing Mustang's arms and using the twin points of contact to resettle himself in the present, drag himself away from that old terror, "he said his mum used to– used to get attacks. He calmed me down, explained what had happened." Explained where they were, how they'd got there, why they'd _needed_ to go there. He'd filled in all the blanks, promised he and Darius would stay with Ed, at least until he was better. Which turned into 'until you find your brother', and then 'we're not leaving'. 

"I really should meet your team one of these days," Mustang muttered. 

Ed surprised himself by laughing, then lent forward and rested his head against Mustang's chest, impossibly comfortable. Like this was normal, like this almost-friendship wasn't still so new, Ed wasn't used to hearing Mustang call him anything but 'Fullmetal'. "Yeah," he agreed. And then, "Thanks." 

Mustang squeezed his shoulders and didn't pull away. 

"Roy?" Gracia called after a bit, her voice pitched low. "Is everything okay?" 

"Ed?" Mustang murmured. 

Ed pulled back and rubbed a hand over his face, feeling tired. "Yeah. Sorry. I–" He sighed and shook his head, glanced up towards Gracia's worried frown and winced. "Sorry." 

"Give us a minute," Mustang requested, and Gracia inclined her head before stepping out of the living room. Ed turned back towards Mustang as he quietly said, "If you need mental health leave, take it," and Ed immediately shook his head; he wasn't _that_ fucked up. Mustang sighed, his expression saying he'd expected that response, then he straightened and firmed his tone to say, "Fine, then listen: 

"Nothing you do at this point will lessen the chance of another bombing." Ed squeezed his eyes shut. "Whether they liked the response they got, or if they felt the response wasn't severe enough, they're going to come up with an excuse to do it again, because, just like how Envy kept trying to get us to fight, they've got a taste and they're going to keep pushing until they tear this country apart. Killing them will only add more fuel to their fire, will paint you with the same brush that they've painted themselves with, and you'll hate yourself for it later. 

"Yes, they're not unlike the homunculi: Removing a piece gets it out of the way for a moment, but it grows right back. We need their philosopher's stone, but we're not going to find it unless someone points us in the right direction, which means we have to keep pinning them to the wall, until one of them starts talking. It takes time and it's exhausting; if you need a break – for mental health or however you want to say it – _take the leave_. And if Grumman or anyone else among the brass give you trouble, ring me and I'll handle it." 

Ed swallowed and shook his head. "You don't have a line out there," he pointed out. 

"We will," Mustang promised. 

Ed blinked, a puzzle slotting together in his mind, and he couldn't believe how long it had taken him to figure it out: Ishval was toxic, with the hatred being thrown at the military, he'd always known that. Most of the soldiers could take a weekend, drive out to East City and get drunk off their arses, but Mustang, as the commanding officer on site, couldn't leave without an official reason. A reason like no phone lines out in Ishval and needing to give weekly reports to the Führer. Once they had a line out, he had no excuse to leave any more. And maybe things were better, now, but that didn't mean escaping sometimes wasn't necessary. 

"Don't go borrowing trouble," Mustang suggested, before Ed could come up with a way to word his response. 

Ed scowled at him. "Shut up. I'm not the one making myself more accessible for the next time my extremely troublesome subordinate brings down a building." 

Mustang snorted at that and stood. "I'll take my chances. Let's go see if Elicia found what you need to make her a necklace." 

Ed closed his eyes. Fuck, Elicia. She was probably freaking out after his shouting and shit. Dammit. 

"Come on, Ed," Mustang called back to him. "She's not going to come to you." 

No, he didn't expect she would, after that display. Damn himself. "Coming," he agreed, and pushed himself off the couch to follow; he'd just have to do something amazing with that necklace as an apology. 

-0-

Elicia, thankfully, hadn't taken long to forgive Ed for spooking her. Actually, it seemed she'd forgiven him before he even poked his head into her room and apologised, because she'd come right over and, when he'd picked her up, had hugged him tight and said, "You've had a long day." Which, well, yeah. But _still_.

Ed really didn't deserve Elicia. Or Gracia. 

Over dinner, Gracia cautiously asked, "Are you going to the memorial tomorrow, Ed?" 

Ed nodded. "Yeah." Then he sighed and sat down his fork. "Ugh. I still need to figure out what I'm going to say to the press." 

Gracia and Mustang both frowned. "You're doing another interview?" Gracia asked, and Elicia perked up next to her. 

Ed quickly shook his head. "No. Old man Grumman warned there'd probably be press waiting around. And, given my name's attached to all this..." He waved a helpless hand before using it to pick his fork back up. "Better to go in prepared than be caught surprised." 

Gracia nodded in understanding. "Did you want us to come with you?" she offered. 

"No!" Ed was quick to insist, even as Mustang murmured, "Better not." Then they looked at each other, sharing a silent agreement to keep the Hugheses out of the media's eye; given this group had set their eyes on Ed, anyone knowingly attached to him could be turned into a target, and Ed really needed to ring Winry and make sure she knew to watch herself. 

"I'll come with you," Mustang told Ed, before glancing at Gracia, and she smiled in understanding. 

"Mr Lion and Mr Gorilla'll be there, too," Ed added, glancing at Elicia. 

She gave him a wide-eyed hopeful look. "Mr Lion and Mr Gorilla are here?" 

"Yup. If your mum agrees, I'll bring them back with me tomorrow." 

Elicia turned her wide-eyed hopeful look on Gracia, who laughed and agreed, "Of course they can come over." 

Elicia was much cheered by that promise. 

But thinking about the memorial reminded Ed of the question he'd promised to ask. There wasn't really a good time to bring it up, he knew, not if he wanted to keep the grim topic from Elicia, but Mustang might know anything Gracia didn't, and he wasn't likely to find a better time. So, taking a breath, he said, "I had a question, actually, about–" He grimaced and glanced between Gracia's concerned look and Mustang's faint frown. "One of my– Nick, he was going to send his pay cheques back to his family, his mum and siblings, and me – my squad and I – were wondering how– None of us have really had to deal with–"

"Survivor benefits," Gracia finished for him, and Ed managed a tight nod, couldn't even begin to guess what his expression was. She set her fork down and offered, "For me, it was enough money to remain here and be comfortable, without worrying about finding a job. I was told it would end after two years but, curiously, I still got a cheque this month." She looked over at Mustang. 

Mustang shrugged. "A filing error, I'm sure," he offered. 

Yeah, Ed bet it was a filing error; one perpetuated by Mustang. Sneaky bastard. (He wholeheartedly approved.) 

"However," Mustang continued, turning to Ed with a grim expression, "the military doesn't provide survivor benefits for parents of soldiers, only spouses or civil partners and children." 

"What?" Ed heard himself say, something very like rage climbing his oesophagus. "That's bull–!" He clamped his mouth closed around the rest of that, remembering Elicia just in time. 

Mustang inclined his head. "It's one of the hold-overs from Bradley's administration. Given the mess we were left with, that particular issue wasn't given priority." 

Ed made a mental note to bring that up with Grumman, because that was _shit_. How many other families had been forced to struggle with grief and the lack of money a child or sibling had been sending home at the same time? Nick and Stephan couldn't be the only people in the military who were providing for more than just their partner or kids. Fuck, _Ed_ was a sole provider for his brother, even if Granny was technically their guardian until he turned eighteen in a year. 

Still, "I'll go by the bank on Monday," he decided. And he fully expected he wouldn't be going alone, though he might try and talk the privates into letting him, Lois, and Taylor bear the cost themselves, since he didn't expect their starting salaries left a lot of extra to pass down the line. 

Gracia reached across the table and patted his hand, her smile kind. "You're a good kid, Ed." 

Ed felt his face heat up and ducked his head. "Yeah, whatever." 

-0-

Mustang and Ed left after dinner, Ed grabbing the bastard's suitcase while he was still fighting with his boots. "Edward," he tried as Ed quickly stepped out of the door ahead of him, dodging the grab for the luggage. 

"Shut up," Ed ordered, glancing back to check that the door had closed behind the other man, "bastard. You're staying at the same hotel as last time?" 

Mustang sighed and nodded as he fell into step next to Ed, not bothering to try for his suitcase again. "The Rose. You're at the Star?" he guessed. 

Ed rolled his eyes. "Always. The Rose is for pansies." 

Mustang snorted. "I'll come to you in the morning, then. Save you the indignity of having to step foot inside." 

"Appreciate that." 

Ed caught Mustang looking over at him, the city lights illuminating the gleam of amusement in his eyes, throwing just the right shadows across his face to make him look–

And, _fuck him_ , Ed had clearly been abstinent way too fucking long if Mustang's obnoxious face was getting to him this easily. Was it worth the effort and hush money to find someone, hope he paid enough extra so they wouldn't go spreading it around that the fucking Fullmetal Alchemist was paying for sex? Ugh. Maybe he should just give in and sleep with Darius or Heinkel. It was free, he already knew he could trust them to keep their mouths shut, and they were long past any awkwardness. 

"Fullmetal," Mustang called, his tone making it clear he'd tried getting Ed's attention a couple times already. 

Ed shot his obnoxious face a glare. "What?" 

Mustang shook his head. "Do you need help coming up with a response to the reporters?" 

Ed sighed and reached inside his jacket for the paper Grumman had handed over. "It really depends what they get hung up on. Figure I'll just wing it." 

"How unlike you," Mustang muttered as he took the paper when Ed held it out and unfolded it. His steps slowed as he read it, and Ed followed suit, steering them both around a couple making out under a street lamp. Mustang hummed and handed it back once he'd finished. "They're well informed," he offered as Ed slipped the paper back away. 

Ed couldn't keep from clenching his jaw as he nodded. 

"And they'll definitely try this again," Mustang added, and Ed glanced over at him, trying to swallow down the sick that was climbing his throat. "Their descriptions," he offered. "Spending that much time on envisioning the outcome suggests they're not going to be satisfied with just one attack." 

"Fucking _shit_ ," Ed snarled, tightening his hold on the handle of Mustang's suitcase. "What the actual fuck is _wrong_ with them?" 

"A great deal," Mustang offered, and he sounded tired. "I'm intrigued, however, that they didn't mention the significance of the date for you." 

Ed stopped. Stopped walking, stopped breathing, stopped _everything_.

Shit. He hadn't– That hadn't even _connected_. That had been a _birthday present_?

Firm hands led him out of the light of streetlamps, caught his hat before it could fall off as he threw up. Fuck. _Fuck_.

"I thought you'd realised already," Mustang offered quietly by way of apology, one hand rubbing gentle circles over his back. 

Ed shook his head, brought up one shaking hand wipe his mouth before bracing it against the alley wall. "No," he rasped, the word dragging itself across the raw remains of his throat. He closed his eyes and withdrew his hand so he could punch it against the wall, felt the impact all the way up to his shoulder, let it centre him. "Fuck. _Damn_ them." 

"They may not have been aware," Mustang said, still quiet, but more musing than apologetic. "Whoever's pulling the strings may have told them to do something on that date without explaining why it was important." 

"Still. That was–"

"Aimed at you," Mustang finished, kindly didn't say what Ed was certain they were both thinking: If the mastermind knew enough to plan around Ed's birthday, what's to say they hadn't pointed out that particular train because people Ed cared about were on board. "It's not your fault, Ed." 

Ed ground his teeth together. "I'm getting really fucking sick of people telling me that," he said, pulling away from the bastard, because it was that or lean into his touch, and Ed...couldn't. He didn't trust himself, wouldn't fuck up this weird almost-friendship, just because he was in a shit place. 

"Maybe," Mustang said as Ed started back out into the street, "you should start listening." 

Ed clenched his jaw and kept walking, didn't look over as Mustang caught him back up and fell easily into step next to him. 

They both held their silences until they reached Mustang's hotel, which was slightly closer to the Hugheses', then Mustang sighed and caught Ed's shoulder hard enough that he had to stop, and he turned a glare on the man that felt far too weak. Mustang just sighed again and lightly set Ed's hat back on his head. "Go get some sleep, Ed," he suggested, before gently tugging his suitcase from Ed's grip. 

"Likewise," Ed managed, and he sounded more tired than angry. "You look like shit." 

Mustang's smile looked like it hurt. "I'll see you in the morning," he offered before stepping past Ed, into the warmly-lit lobby of the Central Rose. 

Ed made his escape, speeding his steps to his hotel and barely slowing enough to keep from slamming the door as he pushed through it. He took the stairs two at a time, had to force himself not to bang on the room door. 

It was opened by Heinkel, who immediately stepped back to let him in, his expression tightening with concern. 

Darius stood as Ed brushed past Heinkel and stopped in the middle of the room, feeling... Fuck, he didn't even know any more. Like he'd been dragged over shattered glass and then stretched taut; sick and wrecked and too fucking _young_. "Ed?" Darius called, stepping towards him with all the caution of a man approaching a live bomb. 

"Fuck me. Someone," Ed heard himself say, looked up and met Darius' worried gaze. " _Please_."

Darius glanced behind him, towards where Ed knew Heinkel had to be, then took the last step forward and reached up, cupped Ed's cheek. "Okay," he agreed, and Ed closed his eyes and just fucking _let go_.

-0-

He came to a stop in front of his father's desk with a salute that wouldn't be returned, stiffly at attention, as was expected. 

"What did the Fullmetal Alchemist and the Führer talk about?" his father asked without preamble, had never been the sort of beat around the bush. 

He let his arm fall back to his side, but remained at attention; he'd been whipped often enough as a child to know the rules. "Just, uhm, the Führer wanted to pass on Brigadier General Mustang's orders that Ed–"

His father coughed and glared. 

He swallowed, struggled to recall the name he was supposed to be using for his squad leader. "Sorry, sir. Lieutenant Colonel Elric was to stay in Central until he arrives." 

"Mustang is coming here?" 

"I guess so, sir. The Führer made it sound like it would be a few days, though." 

His father leant back in his chair, the familiar sound of aged leather creaking sounding almost ominous. "Yes, I don't expect he'll have an easy time, with the trains down. Fine. Anything else?" 

"The Führer just warned E– Lieutenant Colonel Elric that the press will likely be at the memorial." 

"I see. That's it?" 

Should he mention the Führer handing over the copy of the terrorists' message? No. That wasn't important. "Yes, sir." 

His father pinned him with a narrow-eyed stare, which he stared down without flinching; at least he had left the academy with that strength. 

His father sighed. "Fine. Dismissed." 

He saluted. "Yes, sir!" Escaped. 

Tried to ignore the sick feeling crawling around his stomach.

.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, update on chapter 12, since it's supposed to go up while I'm at con: It'll go up at FFN fine, no problem, because I can do that from my mobile. Because of some crazy last-minute planning that went down this week, I'll have my computer with me (I hadn't intended to take it), so, as long as I can get someone to give me the info for our room's wifi, that chapter will go up everywhere on Saturday, but I honestly can't promise when I'll have it up. (It may actually end up being more of an 'early Sunday morning' thing. ^.^")  
> Either way, chapter 13 will be going up once I get home on Monday, and 12 will go up at the same time if I couldn't get it up somewhere while at con.
> 
> In other news, if anyone's attending Katsucon this weekend, lemme know and maybe we can find each other? I love the chance to meet people!

Ed woke when the bed shifted beneath him, Darius getting up with an aggravated, "Who the fuck's it this early?"

The toilet flushed. "I've got it," Heinkel offered before the door of their room was unlocked and opened. "Brigadier General Mustang?" he recognised. 

Ed winced and burrowed a little deeper into his blankets. Whoops. Forgot to mention that to them. Actually, he'd forgotten to mention pretty much everything that had happened the day before. 

Mustang sighed. "I assume Fullmetal forgot to mention I would be coming by this morning." 

"He went to bed almost as soon as he got in," Heinkel said, and it wasn't _quite_ a lie, because Ed had been in a bed not too long after he'd walked in, he just hadn't been alone, and sleep hadn't been a priority. 

"I can understand that," Mustang allowed, and Ed could hear an edge of exhaustion in his voice, like whatever sleep he'd managed to get had done little to push back the stress of the past few days. 

"Ed's still asleep," Heinkel offered, and Mustang must have made some sort of non-verbal response, because Heinkel ordered, "Wake him," as the door closed. 

"But I had to wake him _last time_ ," Darius complained, and it was for the best that Ed was facing away from the door, because there was no way his wide grin could have been hidden behind the blankets. 

"Darius," Heinkel said, "go wake him." 

Darius let out an unnecessarily dramatic sigh. "Ed," he called, as if that had _ever_ worked. "Come on, Ed. Your CO wants you to get up." 

Ed bit back a snicker; like that would get him up. 

Darius let out another dramatic sigh, then the bed shifted as he knelt on it. 

The minute his hand connected with Ed's shoulder, he turned, catching it and yanking hard enough to unbalance the chimera. As Darius hit the mattress with an irritated, "Dammit!" Ed freed himself from his blankets and caught both of the man's wrists, pinning them to the small of his back as he settled on Darius' back. 

"You're not even _trying_ any more," he complained. 

Darius turned his head to the side and glared up at Ed through one eye. "Not here for your entertainment," he grumbled into the mattress. 

Ed grinned and was about to refute that, when Havoc called, from the direction of the door, "Holy shit, Boss. That looks like it hurt." 

Ed blinked down at Darius, whose visible eye had taken a certain victorious glint, then glanced back towards the door, finding Mustang and Havoc both standing there with Heinkel, who was smiling like he'd fucking won something. "You two are fucking arseholes," Ed declared as he slipped off Darius and to the floor next to the bed. 

He had about half a second to be grateful that someone had put boxers on him last night, after he'd fallen asleep, before Mustang called, "Fullmetal," a note of concern in his voice. When Ed glanced up at him, he touched a hand to the dark fabric of his formal uniform, over the same general spot where Ed had been impaled. 

"Ah." Ed glanced down at the scar on his abdomen, which looked at least twice as bad as the one on his back, since the latter had been a cleaner fix, while the former had been reopened by both the doctor and an impatient Ed. "Yeah. It kind of did hurt," he offered to Havoc, before shrugging. "Right. Mustang, that's Heinkel Potez, and this arsehole's Darius Wright. Arseholes, the bastard." 

Havoc started laughing, while Mustang sighed and the two chimeras let out snorts that sounded a bit like they were resigned to him. 

Ed rolled his eyes. "Where the fuck'd my jacket end up?" 

Darius finally got off the bed, gently catching Ed's shoulders and turning him towards the table and chairs set. One of them – Ed would bet Heinkel; Darius tended to be only a little less messy than Ed – had hung his uniform over the back of one of the chairs. The items he usually kept in his pockets – pocket watch, lighter, a handful of diamonds, and whatever change he had for payphones – had been dropped onto the table with his gloves, in front of his closed suitcase. Darius' suitcase was next to his, and a quick glance towards the bed Heinkel had slept in found his. 

"Awesome." Ed stepped forward and pulled out the paper with the pro-Bradley group's message on it out of the inner pocket of the long jacket, then held it back to Darius, since he was closest. "Terrorists' statement. Old man Grumman said he'll give us everything he's got, so you're both free to come to the memorial, if you want to chance the press." 

"And miss out on watching you give it to the vultures in person?" Darius returned as he opened the paper, Heinkel walking over to join him as he did. 

"Fuck you," Ed shot back, before turning to collect clothing to change into. "When's the service supposed to start?" 

"We have almost three hours," Mustang supplied, his voice that forced-even that meant he was hiding something, and Ed glanced over at him with a frown. Mustang smirked. "I assumed you would need the wakeup call." 

"Fuck you," Ed shot back as he brushed past him and Havoc for the bathroom. 

"Fullmetal," Mustang called before Ed could shut the door, and he stopped to frown back at him. "If you give yourself time to meet with the reporters before the service, you'll have a ready excuse to escape." 

_'And you won't have the lingering mood of the service hanging over your head,'_ Mustang didn't say, didn't _have_ to say. 

Ed nodded and closed the door so he could get ready for the day. 

Heinkel traded with him when he was done. Mustang was standing next to the table, eyeing one of Ed's diamonds thoughtfully. As Ed passed where Darius was sharing stories with Havoc, the former held out the paper with the message from the pro-Bradley group, which Ed took. 

"Figured out what they're for yet?" Ed teased as he stopped next to Mustang, reaching forward to open his suitcase. 

"I cheated," Mustang admitted. 

Ed glanced back towards Havoc, who was laughing at the story of what they'd done the only time Briggs made the bad life choice to use the cover of an evening thunderstorm to sneak up on them. (It turned out that two chimeras and an alchemist who could transmute anything with just a clap were not fun to face when your footing and visibility were both for shit.) "Never should have showed him," he muttered, before turning back to his suitcase and clapping his hands together, envisioning the special-made array he needed to open the secret pocket inside the top of the suitcase, then touched the spot just above the lock on the inside. The inside of his suitcase came loose and he freed it just enough to slip the paper in there. 

"Interesting," Mustang commented, only the faintest hint of appreciation in his otherwise dry voice. 

Ed glanced at him as he clapped again and returned the pocket back to its usual invisible position. "It's come in handy," he offered, forcing his tone to remain bland. He dropped the lid of his suitcase, leaving it unlatched – no one was going to be finding his hiding place, and he suspected people searched objects that it were easier to get into less thoroughly; he knew he did, needed to work on that – before starting to slip his things into his pockets. 

"Ed," Heinkel called as he traded with Darius, and Ed glanced back at him. "The car should get here today." 

Ed sighed and nodded. "Old man Grumman won't give me that information until Monday, I suspect." He snorted and added, jerking a thumb at Mustang, "Even if he _did_ only specify waiting for this bastard to show up." 

Heinkel raised his eyebrows at him and Ed shrugged; he'd fill his team in that night. Heinkel nodded. "We should stop past your mechanic." 

Ed grimaced, recalling his earlier realisation that he'd grown. "Yeah. Adjustments," he added, catching the glint in Havoc's eyes. 

"You haven't broken it yet?" Havoc returned. "Will wonders never cease." 

"Fuck you," Ed snapped, picking up his jacket to slip it on. "I need to talk to her, anyway. Tell her to keep her head down." 

The others' expressions turned grim at that, and Ed turned away from them to pick up his black sash. 

"Ed," Heinkel said, before a hand carefully tugged out his hair tie. 

Ed rolled his eyes. "You're a pain in my arse," he muttered, but didn't stop him from pulling his bangs back into a ponytail. When Heinkel stepped back, Ed ordered, "Shut up, Havoc," before turning around. 

Mustang's expression was carefully blank – Ed had expected that, honestly, even if he was a little disappointed at not surprising him enough for a reaction – but Havoc blinked, his expression twisting from something comically shocked to something more honestly surprised. 

"Shut. Up," Ed insisted as the man opened his mouth. "I got the 'fucking weird' comment yesterday." 

"Still holds true today," Darius pointed out. 

Ed snorted and grabbed his gloves from the table and his hat from the seat of the chair his uniform had been hung over. "Are you ready, or are you too busy being an arsehole?" 

Heinkel picked up both his and Darius' hats while Darius quickly attached his funeral sash, so they were able to head out shortly after. 

They stopped to get something to go on their way, then made their way to the community centre where the memorial would be held. 

Outside the building were a few haggard-looking soldiers trying to corral a small group of reporters, who seemed intent on asking questions of the civilians who were trying to make their way inside. Ed scowled at that and sped up, ignoring Mustang's sigh. "Hey! You lot!" he called ahead. "You wanna harass someone, harass me!" 

The reporters were quick to take that offer, meeting him halfway. They'd probably have crowded him, but Darius and Heinkel had caught him up and taken positions behind him, Darius at least half a head taller than the tallest, and both of them very obviously more muscular than anyone there. (Though, as Ed was always happy to prove, hulking muscles did not the best fighter make.) 

"Lieutenant Colonel Elric," a beady-eyed man started out, "what is your reaction to the allegations that the train bombing was your doing?" 

"Bullshit," Ed snapped, glaring at the man, who shifted like he was going to step back, but managed to stop himself. Ed forced himself to take a deep breath, remember he needed to watch his language, and coolly stated, "I don't remember telling anyone to stick a bomb on a train, and I refuse to take responsibility for the actions of this terrorist group." Easier said than done. "They got a beef with me, they can say it to my face, rather than running around like a pack of cowards." 

"Brave words," a sallow-skinned man said, meeting Ed's stare with hatred as he turned to him, "for a kid who got away scot-free." 

" _Brian_ ," someone standing behind the man, who Ed couldn't see, hissed. 

"Scot-free?" Ed repeated, clenching his hands into fists at his sides. "I had friends on that train, friends who had _nothing_ to do with my hunting those bastards down, friends who are _dead_."

"Ed," Heinkel murmured behind him. 

Ed closed his eyes, forced himself to take another deep breath, then looked up at the sallow-skinned man again, who looked more sad than angry, now. "I get that you're hurt," he said, and his voice came out quieter than he'd intended, but the reporters were still enough, he was certain he was still audible, "but you're not the only one. You can stand there and hate me all day, for all I care, but what's that going to get you?" He held his hands out to his sides, recalling his own thoughts from yesterday. "Look at me. I'm a kid playing dress-up; I'm an easy scapegoat because everyone's heard my name, because there's a whole fu– freaking _heap_ of dirt anyone can dig up on me with very little effort, and I'll be the first one to tell you I'm no saint. 

"I'm not the one you want to blame – I never have been, not for this – but if it makes you feel better, if you can sleep a little better tonight, go for it. I'm not afraid of your hate and I won't hide from it; I'll take it with me, and when I find the fuck-shits who set that bomb, I'll punch them once for you." Then he held out his hand to the man, meeting his wide-eyed stare evenly. "Deal?" 

The man swallowed and slipped his pen under his thumb, held tight against the page of his notebook, and took Ed's hand. "Deal," he whispered. 

A different man, wearing a lurid purple button-up, asked, "So you're still planning to go after this group, the Bradley's Avengers?" 

Ed grimaced at the name as he dropped the sallow-skinned man's hand and turned to the new guy. "Did you expect I wouldn't?" he asked, and another reporter let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like it was covering a laugh. Ed snorted. "No, I'm sorry, but unless their intention, with this shi– with their actions was to make me even more determined to see every last one of them behind bars, they've failed." 

"Behind bars?" a woman asked as she pushed her glasses up her nose. 

"I'm sorry?" 

"You said you want them 'behind bars'. Not dead?" 

Ed took a deep breath, gave himself a moment to think of how to word this. "I don't kill people," he settled on, staring at the reflection of light that hid the woman's eyes behind her glasses. "I have never once, in my whole life, killed a human being." Well, Hohenheim, but he wasn't getting into that kettle of fish with anyone, let alone a pack of – what had Darius called them? Vultures? "Seriously injured, sure, but never killed, and my team follows that." He couldn't resist a sigh, adding, "With some complaints." 

Judging by the choked laughter that followed, Ed would guess Darius had made some sort of affirming motion. 

"But me, for my part, for the part of my team and those soldiers from West Command and Briggs that have lent their hand, I have a no kill-shots order, and they've been respecting that. All of them, even Briggs. We've only had to drag out one body, and that was ruled a suicide." 

"Was it?" the woman asked. 

Ed shrugged. "I wasn't there when they pulled him out." He glanced over his shoulder at Heinkel, who had been with the group who'd found the apparent suicide. 

Heinkel frowned. "He was in a cupboard that was locked from the inside. We'd overlooked it on our first pass, didn't go back to check until we heard a gunshot. By the time we got the door open, he was already dead, holding a gun that had been recently fired. If it was anything but a suicide, someone went to great lengths to stage it." 

Ed shrugged again, commenting, "It's almost funny, a bit, when you think about it." 

"What is?" Lurid Purple Button-up asked. 

Ed glanced up at him. "You've seen the message they left?" 

"Yes," he said, while the other reporters all nodded, a few grimacing in distaste. 

"Then you know they called me a terrorist. For supporting Führer Grumman, given, not– I dunno, I suppose you could call it taking their people hostage, but it's not like we cart them around with us. For one, they wouldn't fit in the car." 

Someone let out an amused snort, while the beady-eyed man – clearly having regained his balls – said, "No, you hand them over to the military." 

"Or the civilian police," Ed corrected, "whoever's closer. I mean, these groups have been attacking and raiding military compounds, sure, but they've also been stealing from civilian storehouses, and a lot of people up in the mountains died last winter because of that, because there just wasn't the food to go around, and by the time word made it back to the military and they got through the snowed-in passes with the needed aid, it was too late; this has never been military-focussed terrorism on their part, no matter what anyone might want you to believe. 

"So, and here's the thing, they're calling me a terrorist for supporting Grumman, but they're the ones killing people – killing _civilians_ – and halting nationwide commerce. And they're doing it in Bradley's name!" And giving Ed an easy way to undermine them, if he could manage the lie. "Bradley, who fuc– sorry, freaking _loved_ this country and her people. If he were still alive, I think he'd be horrified. Or, well, okay." Ed snorted, shaking his head and trying not to let on how disgusted he was at talking up Bradley's praises. "Let's be honest here: If King Bradley was still alive, he'd walk into their headquarters himself and kill them all for using his name for their own agenda." 

"You really think Bradley would have been that extreme?" Lurid Purple Button-up asked with a scoff. 

Oh, Ed wasn't sure he was capable of tackling that one without marking himself as anti-Bradley, but then he recalled an incident where the fucker had done something similar. 

"Yeah," he agreed, matching the man's mocking smile with one that had teeth, "I do. Because, you know, a few years ago, when Al and I were down south, we came across this group of discontent former soldiers–" well, the original Greed's chimeras _had_ been former soldiers, even if they hadn't actively been after the military "–and we got into a fight. Bradley showed up while I was taking on their leader, ordered us out for medical attention, and went after the fleeing group by himself. He was the only person to walk out of their hideout alive, after us." Simplified, but more than enough, judging by the shocked silence. 

Ed scoffed. "Seriously. This is the same man who miraculously survived a bridge giving out under his train, made it back to Central in one piece, and the first thing he did was nullify a Briggs tank. And you think he wouldn't take out a group of terrorists threatening his people in his own name?" 

"Fullmetal," Mustang called into the continued silence. 

Ed got up on his toes to look past the reporters at where Mustang and Havoc had moved behind them. Lois and a couple members of his squad had joined them, and Ed nodded in understanding before turning his attention back on the reporters. "Right, I'm done. You want to go back to trying to get quotes from people going to the memorial, I can't stop you, but have some decency, yeah? Not everyone who's lost someone is gonna wanna talk to you." Then he knocked a hand back against Darius' chest. "Let's go." 

The reporters moved out of their way with murmured thanks or acknowledgements, and Ed walked past them without a word, instead offering a crooked smile for his squad. "Hey." Then he nodded to Mustang as his squad returned their own greetings, and the bastard nodded back before taking the lead on the way to the centre. Ed's squad fell in around him, while Darius and Heinkel brought up the rear. 

Once they'd got a few steps from the reporters, Lois leant in and drily commented, "You know, for a minute there, I almost believed you actually _liked_ Bradley." 

"Respecting his skills with a blade is not the same as liking him," Ed retorted. 

"You know what I mean." 

Ed sighed and shrugged. "It's amazing, the lengths we'll go to to protect what we care about." 

Lois watched him for a moment, until Ed met her stare, then turned a pointed look on Mustang's back. "What you care about, Ed?" she asked quietly. 

"Don't," Ed hissed through clenched teeth because, fuck her, she'd figured something out, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know _what_.

She looked back at him, her eyes too sharp, too knowing. "I won't," she promised. "But be careful." 

As if Ed didn't already know that. 

They joined the queue into the centre, civilians standing back to let the large group of military personnel pass. As at the funeral, there was a clear division between military officers and everyone else, and as soon as Ben Grahame, who was standing on Ed's other side from Lois, pointed towards the rest of their squad, Ed called ahead, "Mustang." 

The man stopped and looked back at him, his best and most irritating 'I'm more important than you so you're going to keep out of my way' face on. "Fullmetal." 

"I'm staying with my squad." 

Mustang's mouth twitched like he'd suppressed a smile. "I'm aware. Havoc." 

"Yes, sir," Havoc acknowledged, and when Mustang turned to continue his way to where the other officers were gathered, Havoc stayed behind. 

"What are you, my nanny?" Ed muttered when Havoc traded places with Ben at his side as they turned towards his squad. 

"Suggesting you need one, Boss?" 

"Fuck off." 

There was an unfamiliar second lieutenant with Taylor and those who hadn't waited for Ed outside, and he saluted as soon as he saw them. "Lieutenant Colonel Elric, Second Lieutenant Hansa. I'm Morgan Lewis; I headed Squad A after you." 

"Good to meet you," Ed replied, very pointedly holding out a hand for a shake. "Call me Ed." Next to him, Havoc laughed, while most of his squad managed fond smiles. 

Morgan's stance eased and he smiled tiredly as he caught Ed's hand. "Morgan," he offered, and Ed caught himself grinning. "Sorry I couldn't meet you at the funeral," he added as he shook hands with Lois, who looked honestly entertained that Morgan had so quickly given in to Ed's particularities. "I got in late last night. Stationed out by Youswell." 

"My sympathies," Lois offered, sounding way too sorry about that, and Ed suspected the military was no more welcome out there than it had been when he'd visited years ago. 

Ed snorted. "Tell Halling hi for me." Since his squad didn't seem to have any issues with Morgan, and he'd dropped the military attitude fairly quick, Ed figured giving him an in with the Youswell miners was a fair exchange. 

Morgan blinked. "The mayor?" 

"Yup." 

"I...will," Morgan agreed, sounding vaguely confused. 

Ed caught a couple people eyeing his guests, so he quickly introduced, "Second Lieutenants Heinkel Potez and Darius Wright, my team, and Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc, retired." 

"Honourably discharged," Havoc corrected. 

Ed shot him a flat look. "Bullshit. You got the offer to return, same as me, don't even lie." 

"But I refused it," Havoc pointed out. "It's still an honourable discharge, Boss." 

"Fucking military and your fucking labels," Ed muttered to himself while his squad introduced themselves to Ed's guests, and Havoc patted his shoulder. 

"Hey, Ed," Stephan called, "did you ask?" 

Ed couldn't keep from clenching his jaw, and his squad tensed. "Yeah," he got out, his voice way too tight, and he sensed Morgan and Havoc both shifting uncertainly just out of his periphery vision. "No survivor benefits for parents or siblings." 

" _What_?" about half of the privates exclaimed, while the rest let out quiet curses. 

"That's _bullshit_." Lois declared. 

"I know," Ed admitted, and it was an honest struggle to keep from snarling the words. "And we can make a stink about it all we want – fuck, I _will_ make a stink about it – but it's going to take months to get through the brass, because they're greedy fucks, and they're not going to backdate it, you _know_ they won't; nothing we do through the military's going to help the Halberstadts." 

"So what then?" Sabine Hamilcar asked, her voice too sharp. 

Ed looked around at them, at their expressions – caught between fury and pain – saw the same on Morgan's face, and held out a fist in front of himself. "I'm going to the bank on Monday." 

Stephan was the first to step forward and cover Ed's fist with his own hand. "I'm coming with you," he insisted. 

Everyone crowded in after that, piling their hands on top of Ed's, their eyes burning with purpose, and Ed's smile felt too sharp on his face. 

"One thing," he told them, his voice as hard as his State Alchemist title. "Lois, Taylor, Morgan, you lot are welcome to put some of your monthly pay towards them, but the rest of you _won't_."

"The _fuck_ , Ed?" Greg Gabardini demanded. 

"You get a couple promotions under your belts, start making enough you can afford to start saving up for something stupid, we'll talk again. But, right now, you really think Nick would want you tightening your belts for his family?" Ed shot back, and a few of the privates looked away. "Come with us to the bank as a show of support, sure, I'm good with that, but _no one_ in this squad is going to be forced to struggle for the sake of another. Clear?" 

His squad made tired sounds of agreement. 

Ed looked at Taylor, Lois, and Morgan, and all three nodded. 

"Are they here?" Morgan asked, looking around at everyone. "Nick's family, does anyone know? We should let them know." 

They all turned to look; Nick had been pestered into showing around an old picture of his family, once, old enough that his father, who had died three years before, had still been alive for it, so they had a general idea of what they looked like. 

"There," Sabine called, pointing towards the front of the crowd, near where the podium had been set up. Ed looked over and saw a haggard-looking woman who looked very little like the kind-hearted, smiling woman in Nick's picture. She had two teenaged girls with her, the elder holding tight to a boy (the younger brother, Ed guessed) sat in her lap, like he was the only thing keeping her together, while the younger was slumped down in her chair, her face in her hands. 

" _Shit_ ," Stephan breathed, and Ed clenched his jaw to keep from adding his own curses because, _fuck_ , this wasn't _fair_.

A heavyset man in dark robes – a civilian leader of some form, Ed guessed – stepped up to the podium and called for everyone to take seats. 

"After," Lois murmured, ushering their group into the two rows that already had a few of their things on it. "We'll talk to them after." 

The man at the podium waited until everyone had found seats and settled down, then introduced himself as Minister Dwight – Ed very carefully didn't grimace; just because he had no use for religious leaders didn't mean that other people didn't find comfort in them – then requested a moment of silence for the victims. 

After the silence, Grumman got up to offer his condolences – he had on his best apologetic face, and Ed was only vaguely surprised to find no signs of it being fake – and promise the military would be working together with the civilian police to up security on all train lines, and they would be wasting no effort in hunting down and apprehending the culprits. (Ed pretended he didn't feel his squad turning to look at him, didn't react to the Führer's comment at all.) 

After Grumman had sat down, Dwight came back to the podium and explained that he would be reading off the names of all the victims, and if any family or friends present wished to say something for them, they were welcome to come up and do so. 

The list was way too fucking long, and Ed had to close his eyes after the first time someone got up to speak and had to leave partway through because they'd started crying too hard to continue. Because, fuck, he felt sick and guilty and it didn't fucking _matter_ if this wasn't his fault, he still bore some of the blame. He _did_.

When Dwight read out Rebecca's name, there was a long silence, into which Lisa Coanda whispered, "They didn't come." 

Rebecca's no-good father, Ed knew she meant, just as fucking bad as Hohenheim, and he reached past Lois and Evan, grabbing Lisa's clenched hand. "Come on," he murmured, and when he stood, she stood with him, her jaw held stiff and eyes bright with the tears she was very determinedly holding back. Because she and Rebecca had been the best of friends, and Ed wasn't going to let his squad member be forgotten in silence because she had a no-good bastard for a father. 

Dwight stepped back as they made it to the front of the room, clearing the podium for them. When Ed motioned for her to take the microphone, Lisa glanced over at him with some trepidation, and it occurred to him that she was only a year older than him, and she'd had some confidence issues when they'd first got to the academy – helping her with that was a large part of what had made her and Rebecca so close – so he touched her arm and promised, "I'm right behind you." 

She took a deep breath, nodded, and straightened before stepping up to the microphone. "Rebecca Flanders," she said quietly, "was my best friend. I come from a family of mild-tempered bakers, so the military academy was kind of a...a shock, I guess. I wasn't flexible enough, I wasn't strong enough to lift my own weight, I was too shy; I wasn't at all ready for the military, I guess, but my whole squad, they pitched in to make me better, and Rebecca, she got on me about the shy thing. She was–" Lisa cut herself off, took a shuddering breath, and Ed stepped forward to rest a hand on her shoulder. 

She shot him a grateful smile, then turned back to the microphone. "Rebecca Flanders didn't take crap from anyone. She never yelled back at any of the trainers at the academy, not after the first time, but you knew she always wanted to. She would always make me stand up in the middle of the floor in our barracks in the evenings, insisted neither of us were gonna get any work done until I could stand up straight and recite, loudly, part of our lessons for the day. And when I managed it, she'd laugh and hug me and share whatever treat she'd managed to sneak out of the mess after dinner. Because she was tough, when you needed it, but when one of the other women in our barracks got really bad news, she sat up with her for hours and tucked her in when she fell asleep, because she was kind, too. 

"Rebecca, she wanted to change the world. She was always saying she wanted to live in a world where she would be proud to wear her uniform, rather than just using it as an escape from her family. And that last night, before we all left for our assignments, she told me she felt a little better about her uniform, because she knew a lot of good soldiers, and some even better commanders. And we, her and me and Sabine, we all joked about how each of us were going to be the first one to serve under one of our squad commanders. Rebecca said she was going to aim for Ed–" Ed closed his eyes and drew in a careful breath that shuddered, because of _course_ she had "–because he didn't care if you yelled back at him, and she figured she was gonna be really sick of always biting her tongue by the time she talked him into letting her transfer. And we all laughed, and Rebecca was laughing so hard she actually bit her tongue and that just made us laugh harder and that–"

Lisa drew in a breath that ended on a sob and Ed squeezed her shoulder. "That's," she continued, her voice shaking, "how I want to remember her. Laughing at the world." Then she reached up and grabbed Ed's hand, squeezing back, and Ed had about half a second to feel worried before she said, her voice growing stronger, "If Rebecca was here, she'd tell you this: Every one of you out there who's buying into that crap about Ed, you're part of the problem, you're the whole reason those terrorists bombed that train!" 

"Lisa," Ed tried. 

" _No_!" She shot him a glare, tears shining on her cheeks, and Ed pressed his lips together, frowning, but didn't stop her from turning back to the microphone and adding, "If you wanna change the world, Rebecca'd say, you have to get up and do it. Stop pointing fingers and just–" she slumped, clearly running out of angry energy "–just do _something_. Just–"

"Come on," Ed murmured, and she let him draw her away from the podium. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered, as they started down the aisle, her head bowed against the weight of the crowd's stares. 

"I know," Ed promised, turning a hard stare on the people staring at them, and a number of them looked away. The rest turned away when Dwight stepped back up to the microphone and called out the next name. 

When they got back to their rows, Ed sent her back to her seat a few down from his, smiling when he saw his squad had rearranged slightly so Sabine could sit next to Lisa. 'You got her?' he mouthed at her as Lisa turned to hide her face against Sabine's shoulder, and Sabine nodded, wrapping her arms around Lisa while Evan reached over and started rubbing her back in halting motions, like he wasn't certain of the mechanics, but he was damn well going to try. 

Ed settled into his own seat at the end of the row and sat up straight, in defiance of the eyes he could sometimes feel on him. 

-0-

"Elric!" someone called once the memorial had ended and everyone was getting up. 

"Oh, great," Lois muttered, peering over Ed's shoulder, "it's Mr Bradley himself." 

Ed snorted and ordered, "Go catch the Halberstadts," before turning to face Lawrence Wackett. "Wackett," he called in return. 

Wackett stopped in front of him, looked uncertain for a moment, then reached out and, telegraphing the whole time, lightly punched his fist against Ed's chest, right where his funeral sash crossed in front of the flap of his jacket. Under the sound of moving bodies, Ed caught the sound of paper crinkling, felt something slip carefully under the flap of his jacket. "Give them _hell_ ," Wackett said, his face twisted with fury and grief, and Ed suspected he'd lost more than two squad members on that train. 

"I'll give them _justice_ ," Ed returned evenly. 

Wackett scoffed and withdrew. "Pretty words for a dog." 

Ed flashed him a smile that was all teeth. "I never said my bark was worse than my bite, did I?" 

Wackett flashed him an equally sharp smile in return, then turned and marched away. 

"That," Evan Beardmore said, "was weird." 

Ed touched the spot Wackett had punched, felt the unfamiliar give of the fabric now there was paper beneath it, and dropped his hand. "Yes, it was," he agreed quietly, turning towards the front of the centre. He spotted Lois after a moment, and was just about to start over, when there was a break in the leaving crowd and he saw her hand, held behind her back, forming the signal for 'stay back'. "Hm," he said, before turning to Evan. "Fuck, I'm so out of the loop; where are you posted? Your father's here, right? And your brothers–"

"Are in South City and East City," Evan agreed quietly. "Yeah. I got posted to North City." 

Ed snorted. "Wow. Almost a full set, there." 

Evan sighed. "Yeah. And Father's already pushing Kenny to start preparing for the academy. I feel really bad about leaving him there, since now he's the centre of Father's focus." 

"Your mum's not helping?" Ben Grahame asked as he leant against Evan's shoulder (because he was ridiculously tall and liked to show off). "I thought she's the reason you got out of that...that whatsit." 

"Young Officer Program," Ed said, because Evan's father, Major General Beardmore, had been one of those intent on taking advantage of Bradley's program to fast-track military kids through the system. 

Evan shook his head. "She's trying, I guess, but Father's been pushing harder since Bradley died. Said the military needed more soldiers they could count on. Worried about how many died, I guess." 

"The casualties were pretty high," Ed admitted, because they'd lost almost half of the Central troops, between Briggs and the mindless dolls, and many more were honourably discharged because of their wounds. He turned to Ben. "Where are you posted, then?" 

"Oh, is that how you got talking about Evan's fucked up fami–"

"Oiy!" 

Ben patted Evan on the back and stopped leaning on him. "I'm in Marrien," he offered to Ed. 

Ed nodded; that was in the central area, he knew, and was the transfer point for trains going along the southern part of the west area. "So close to Taylor, but so far," he teased, and Ben flailed a punch in his direction that Ed didn't even pretend to duck. 

"Grow up, kids," Lois ordered as she joined them. 

"How'd it go?" Ed asked as the rest of their squad broke away from their smaller conversations and crowded around. (And Ed felt a little bad for how much of the aisle they were blocking, but most of the people who were desperate to leave already had.) 

Lois sighed. "She is _not_ one of your fans," she told Ed and he shrugged; he was used to people disliking him without knowing him. "I had to tell her we promised Nick we'd take care of them if anything happened to him, figured she wouldn't accept the help otherwise." 

"Yeah, she didn't sound like the sort to want a helping hand," Greg Gabardini said, because as tired as she'd looked, Mrs Halberstadt had worn a brave face when she'd had her turn at the podium. 

Lois nodded. "I don't know that she'll use the money, but it'll be there if times get hard, and his sister, the oldest?" 

"Iris," Ed supplied. 

"Her, she was listening pretty intently, so I think she'll use the money if they need it, even if her mum won't. But–" she knocked a hand against Ed's shoulder "–we should probably keep your name off the account, if at all possible." 

Ed nodded. "We'll ask at the bank. And put Iris and Amy's names on there, too, so they can withdraw the money without having to convince their mum they need it." 

"Yeah," Stephan agreed, while others made noises of approval. 

Lois snorted and knocked her hand against Ed's shoulder again. "Also, your CO left, I guess? Told me to pass on that he got talked into a double date with someone named Georgina tonight and you're the second." 

"Georgina," Ed heard himself repeat, his tone flat (because the bastard going on a date wasn't a surprise, but dragging Ed into a double date sounded like bullshit), while Omar whistled. As Sabine and Greg both turned to hit Omar, Ed's mind connected 'Georgina' with the name Chris always used for Grumman, 'George', and he scowled. "Fucking Mustang and his fucking dick," he snarled, and a couple members of his squad let out choked laughs. 

And then, because he was an arsehole, Darius sang out from behind him, "Ed's got a date with a gi~irl!" 

Ed felt his right eye start to twitch. "Excuse me," he told his squad, "but I need to go find a place to pummel a member of my team where no one will find the body." 

"Bank tomorrow!" Taylor reminded him as Ed turned and shoved Darius hard enough to make the chimera stumble backwards a couple steps, his squad letting out laughs that were varying levels of tired. 

"Yup!" Ed called back as the two chimeras and Havoc fell in around him. 

"Ugh," Havoc complained as they stepped out of the centre, "it is so utterly _not_ fair, Boss. The chief never set any of the rest of us up on dates." 

"Then you're lucky," Ed replied, scanning the lingering crowd for any sign of Mustang and not finding him. He was probably already at the Hugheses', then, or had other business to attend to. 

"Are you going?" Heinkel asked. 

"Yes." 

Darius let out a disbelieving sound. "Really? You're going on a date with a _woman_?"

Ed glanced back at him, smirking at his stare. "No." 

"Conflicting answers, Boss." 

"Yes, I'm going," Ed clarified, "but it's not a date with a woman." 

"With a girl?" Darius suggested, and Ed shook his head. He sighed. "Dammit, Ed." 

Havoc glanced around at the largely empty streets, then shot Ed a sharp look, lowering his voice to say, "The chief gave us all female names for undercover ops." 

Ed smiled at that. "Imagine that." 

Havoc gave a sharp nod and turned back to looking ahead of them. "Enjoy your 'date'." 

Ed sighed. "I hate Mustang," he muttered, and the other three laughed. 

-0-

Ed finally got the chance to see what Wackett had passed him while he was watching Elicia chase Heinkel and Darius around the park, ostensibly guarding their jackets, since Havoc had offered to take Gracia to the grocery while Elicia had a babysitter. 

The paper turned out to be a label-free map of – he realised after turning it the correct direction – the area southeast of Lake Kauroy, east of Dublith. (Which made sense, when he thought of it, since Wackett had been posted in Dublith.) There was a circle drawn over a spot about half a day's walk southeast of the lake's southern banks, if Ed was judging distance correctly, and he frowned at it for a moment before recalling Wackett's comment: 'Give them hell.'

"Shit," he whispered, staring down at the map. Wackett had given him one of the pro-Bradley group's hideouts. And, given how remote it was, it was almost assuredly one of their larger bases, like the one they'd taken out in the west when Ed had first arrived. Which meant there was a good chance it was the base of the train bombers. Which meant Ed _had them_.

He'd still wait for Grumman's information because, if they were going to be in the south any way, they might as well tackle any other murmurs, just to lessen the chance of any of the other groups banding together and trying another bombing. 

He folded the map back up and slipped it into the inner pocket of his jacket, then leant back against the park bench and stared up through the trees at the bright blue of the sky, feeling so much better about the future. In spite of his 'dinner date' with Mustang and Grumman. 

-0-

Mustang never made it over to the Hugheses' – at least, Ed never saw him – but he did find a way to pass on directions to Gracia, so, after he'd dropped back by his hotel to change out of his formal uniform, Ed found himself slipping into the back garden of what he suspected was Grumman's townhouse. It was suspiciously dark, past the reach of the occasional lamp out in the alley, and Ed crouched in a shadowy corner, staring into what appeared, at night, to be an overgrown garden. "Bastard?" he called quietly. 

Someone stepped out onto the path and gloved hands motioned him forward. A crack in the wooden slats of the fence just above Ed's head let in just enough light to highlight the familiar red circles against white, and he let out a quiet breath of relief as he stepped forward. 

Mustang led them in through a back door and waited for Ed to close it behind himself before quietly directing, "Lock it." And, once Ed had done so, "This way." He led Ed through to another room, stopping a few steps in and snapping to light two candles sitting in the centre of a round table that was set for three people, each of the plates covered with a warming dish. Grumman was nowhere in sight, but the use of alchemy did a lot to ease the strain that had been building up in Ed's shoulders. 

Ed sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. "I hate shadow games," he muttered. 

Mustang shot him a sympathetic smile, but it was Grumman who said, as he stepped into the room through another doorway, "Get used to it, Elric. The military is full of ears listening for scraps that can be used for promotion; the more careful you are, the longer you'll survive." 

"I have a noted preference for the theory of 'the harder you hit, the longer you'll survive'," Ed retorted. 

"Politics involve less straightforward rules, I'm afraid," Mustang offered, motioning for Ed to take a seat, while Grumman joined them at the table. 

"Politics can go fuck themselves," Ed muttered, and Grumman let out his really fucking obnoxious laugh. "You can go fuck yourself, too. Sir," he added as he took a seat. 

"It really is a pity you're so hopelessly loyal to Mustang," Grumman commented as he and Mustang took their own seats. "Your particular brand of recalcitrance would be a refreshing change in my office." 

"Truly, sir, fuck off." 

"As entertaining as this exchange is," Mustang interrupted flatly, "I expect you asked us here for a reason, sir." 

"So I did," Grumman agreed, sounding tired, before motioning at the covered plates. "Please feel free to eat; my housekeeper makes a most excellent roast. Not quite to my late wife's standards, but still quite good." 

Ed glanced at Mustang, who sighed, shrugged, then uncovered his plate, setting free some truly mouth-watering scents. 

Ed barely waited long enough to get his own covering off before tackling his food. He didn't even care that Grumman laughed obnoxiously again. 

"Sir," Mustang prompted before taking a polite bite of his own roast. 

Grumman sighed, the sound disappointed. "Yes." He pulled off his own cover, stating, "You're both aware, by now, that this 'Bradley's Avengers'–" if Ed's mouth weren't full, he'd have requested they do away with that name "–have a mole in the military. A fairly high-placed mole, given everything they've been passing on." 

"It's been more than just the names of those soldiers who have helped Fullmetal hunt them, then," Mustang assumed. 

Grumman nodded and glanced at Ed. "You reported a couple of near misses in May, as I recall." 

Ed swallowed his mouthful and nodded. "Yeah. Four while we were in the west, and another three after we took out that lot up north." 

Grumman's expression was grim. "I had hoped moving you north would change that, but it wasn't until after I started having your reports delivered to me at home, rather than the office, that it did." 

Ed stiffened, because that suggested their mole was someone either in the Führer's office, or someone who had easy access to it. "But you wouldn't have got my reports until at least a week after the events I covered in them," he pointed out. 

"If they had a record of where you'd been and what rumours you had access to, they could extrapolate," Mustang returned, and Ed realised that was probably also how Chris and Armstrong's people had always known where to catch him with his post. Mustang turned to Grumman. "You believe it's someone in your office?" 

Grumman shook his head. "No." When Mustang raised an eyebrow at him, the Führer snapped, "Do not question the trust I put in my team, Mustang, and I won't question yours. Which, might I remind you, is currently scattered." 

Very true, Ed realised, hiding a grimace with another bite of food; Falman was up at Briggs, and he'd told Ed that Fuery was currently in Central, on loan to the Communications department, while Havoc had gone civilian in East City, and Ed himself was wandering all over the country. Not that Ed believed a single one of them wouldn't immediately jump back in line behind Mustang if the bastard needed them, but it still looked like a group who were slowly falling apart, to anyone on the outside. 

"Then who?" Mustang asked, his voice tight. "How many people have access to your post? Or do you suspect the madam's employees, now?" 

Grumman narrowed his eyes. "Perhaps I should. Women are not beyond corruption." 

"Shall I pass that on to your granddaughter, sir?" 

"Holy _shit_ ," Ed interrupted. "Are you sure you bastards are old enough to be leading this country?" They both turned glares on him, and Ed rolled his eyes, long immune to the glares of commanding officers. "Look, old man Grumman says it's not his staff, and unless whoever Chris had passing post has been completely denied access to my reports since he switched where they've been being delivered, we can rule that out." He focussed on Grumman, whose expression had eased slightly. "So, who else has unquestioned access to your office when you're not in there? Anyone?" Because that didn't sound right, not for the Führer's office, not when they all knew there was a mole. 

"Or the authority to stop whoever's delivering your post in Command," Mustang realised, straightening. 

"Captain Rosemary Sachsen," Grumman said, and Ed glanced at Mustang, who was frowning. "She was in command of the post room under Bradley and is the only person allowed to handle the post of anyone above colonel. I vetted her myself before I allowed her to keep her position." 

Mustang shook his head. "I don't know her," he admitted, and Ed bit back a shocked sound; this wasn't the time. "It's possible something's changed for her in the past year." 

Grumman sighed and nodded. "I'll have some people look into it. I'll also put a watch on the post room, in case someone else is sneaking looks at post. For the moment, I'll continue to have delicate documents delivered directly to my home." He looked at Ed. "If something important comes up, you have my home number." 

Ed gave a tight nod; he'd kept Grumman's note as a just in case, though he didn't anticipate needing it. 

Grumman looked at Mustang. "You said something about getting a line out to Ishval?" 

Mustang put on his most obnoxious smirk. "Ah, yes. About that; I'm going to be requiring Warrant Officer Fuery, if you can spare him." 

Grumman snorted, his smile knowing. "Take your spy back, Mustang." 

"Harsh, sir." 

Grumman snorted again and turned back to Ed. "Speaking of spies, how much do you trust your academy squad, Elric?" 

Ed stiffened, the direction of that question obvious, and very carefully set his fork and knife down before saying, "I don't want them involved." 

Grumman's smile was far from kind. "They're already involved." 

"Well, then... Uninvolve them!" 

"Fullmetal," Mustang interrupted. 

"No!" Ed snapped, pointing a finger that shook at first Mustang, then Grumman. "Fuck you both, _no_. Leave my fucking squad alone. Haven't they suffered enough shit in this stupid fucking shadow war?" Because this work was _dangerous_ , and it was bad enough they were marked for being on good terms with Ed; the last thing he wanted was to drag them further into the path of the fucking terrorists and whatever enemies were watching for one of them to fuck up. 

" _Edward_ ," Mustang said, his boot knocking very obviously against the side of Ed's right leg under the table and holding there, and Ed turned to glare at him. He gentled his tone to say, "No one's saying they have to go out into the field any more than they will as soldiers, but you have nine possible informants covering four capitals and scattered out over the rest of the country. They're _going_ to see or hear things, but they're not likely to pass that on or realise they might be in danger unless you tell them." 

Ed closed his eyes and forced himself to take a breath that was only a little tight; he couldn't look at Mustang when he was being all logical but _nice_ like that. Dammit. Damn him and his not-really-a-bastard face. 

"Can you direct them to listen for specific information?" Grumman asked. "Do you trust them to pass you good information? Without letting anyone else know what you're looking for?" 

Ed clenched his jaw. He could say no, keep his squad out of this, he knew it, but... Fuck. His life – the survival of both him and his team – had come to depend on what information he could gather. Chris had an excellent handle on Central, and Armstrong's intelligence network had proven invaluable up north (on those occasions when he'd dared to use them and give Briggs a clear target), but having direct lines to the west, south, and east, having a line in North City that didn't depend on Armstrong, that would make a huge difference in how he gathered intel. Fuck, he could find out, while in the west, that there were whisperings of a larger group forming somewhere in the east, hunt them down before some delusional fuck-shit decided to blow another train, or whatever horrors they designed next. 

Shit. His squad would never forgive him if he refused them the opportunity to fight back, not now, not with them knowing what he was doing. And he'd never be able to forgive himself if he could have stopped another bombing with information one of them overheard, not to mention the chance that they'd overhear something and get themselves killed trying to do something about it, because they didn't know they could just pass it on to him and he'd handle it. 

"I'll talk to them," he got out, somehow, the words tasting like blood on his tongue, and Mustang's pushed a little harder against his leg before pulling away. (Stupid, protective bastard; of course he'd already figured out Ed's triggers and taken steps to help him avoid an attack.) 

"How much do you trust them, Elric?" Grumman demanded. 

Ed shot him his best glare. "I do. That's all that should matter to you." 

Grumman's mouth thinned into a line of disapproval. "You know what's on the line." 

Ed clenched his hands into fists, redirected his stress into anger, and snarled, "I can't wait until you retire, sir, because I'm going to punch you in the fucking face, and no one'll be able to do a fucking thing about it." 

Mustang let out a choked sound that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. 

"Then you had best hope I live to see my retirement." 

Ed put on his meanest smile. "Oh, I'll punch your corpse if that's my only option. It won't be nearly as satisfying, but I'll survive." 

"Fullmetal," Mustang interrupted, and when Ed looked over at him, he caught a glint of resigned amusement in his eyes. "Please refrain from threatening the Führer while he retains his seat." 

Grumman chuckled and started in on his food at last. "I do so enjoy productive dinner dates. We should do this again." 

Mustang sighed. "I don't intend to remain in Central that long." 

"Seconded," Ed was quick to add, before pointing at Grumman. "Look, see, Mustang came; that means you owe me information and then I'm gone." 

Grumman let out an obnoxious put-upon sigh. "You'll have to come by Command for it in the morning." 

"Because you suck, yeah, I figured." 

Grumman gave him an amused look as he reached for his water. "I'm sure you'll be back through soon enough, Elric. We'll have dinner again." 

Ed waited until their bastard of a Führer had taken a sip, then deadpanned, "You're way too old for my tastes, sir." 

The spit take was absolutely worth the mental image his own brain had supplied. 

"I should hope so," Mustang muttered, looking vaguely disturbed, from behind his own water glass. 

Ed made a face at him and Mustang's eyes glinted in the candlelight. 

"It's good, then, Elric," Grumman said, his tone dry, as he mopped up the water with his napkin, "that you won't be having dinner with me, but with Georgina's young niece, Gloria." 

"Who I'm sure is very lovely and a fine conversationalist for the occasional dinner," Ed returned, matching Grumman's tone, "but you'll find I'm far more interested in her brother." 

"...you're gay," Mustang realised, surprised enough that it actually showed on his face. 

"Bisexual with an extreme preference for males," Ed corrected before looking at Grumman. "Which my team and parts of my squad are aware of." Well, Lois was the only one who he'd ever actually told flat out that he preferred his own gender, but it's not like he'd ever gone to pains to _hide_ it, nor did he intend to in future; if Grumman wanted to set up secret meetings disguised as a standing date, he was going to have to be the one to bend his story a bit. 

Grumman hummed. "Brother it is. Grant?" 

Ed blinked, then snorted. "I notice a preference for names starting with the letter 'g'." 

"If only my lovely Ginger had held to that," Grumman agreed with a sad tone. (Ed knew him well enough, he was fairly certain the crazy old bastard was putting on a show.) 

'Daughter,' Mustang mouthed. 

"If only she hadn't married that alchemist boy," Grumman continued, appearing, for all the world, like he was lost in the past. "I warned her that men whose names start with 'b' are terrible influences." 

Ed rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I don't really care what we're calling my imaginary–" He stopped, realising what he was just about to say: 'Boyfriend'. Fuck him sideways, Greed was laughing at him from the other side of the Gate, he knew it. 

"Boyfriend, Fullmetal," Mustang supplied for him. When Ed glared at him, he put on that punch-worthy smirk of his before looking at Grumman. "I don't know, sir. Fullmetal may be a little too young for a dedicated relationship." 

"Look who's fucking talking," Ed muttered, even if... Yeah, well, not too _young_ , really, just unprepared to settle. Or even to pretend to settle. Especially not if he was hunting down a group that posed a threat to anyone close to him. 

He straightened. "No." He cast a stare between the two men. "It doesn't matter if it's a boyfriend or friend with benefits–" Mustang let out a choked noise and Grumman raised his eyebrows "–there's no fucking way I'd even think of seeing anyone new, not now, not while I'm making myself a target for terrorists." He focussed on Grumman. "Your son-in-law was an alchemist?" 

Grumman glanced towards Mustang, who sighed and agreed, "My teacher." 

Ed blinked at that. Huh, he hadn't realised there was that much of a connection between Grumman and Mustang. He shrugged the thought away. "I'd be willing to tutor Georgina's niece and/or nephew in alchemy on those occasions I'm in Central." 

"Gloria," Mustang decided. "You're right, she was lovely, and you got to talking alchemy." He snorted. "Expectedly, Georgina was not impressed with the topic taking over dinner conversation." 

Ed snorted. "She shouldn't have invited two alchemists to dinner, then." 

Grumman sighed, and Ed suspected he, in fact, wouldn't have been impressed if their conversation had turned to alchemy; something Ed might have to remember for future. "Very well," he allowed. "Elric, if someone passes on that Gloria was hoping for those alchemy lessons you mentioned, come here that evening; the back door will be unlocked for you." 

Ed sighed. "Yeah, fine." Joy.

.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our mystery father and son duo return for their second and final (from the son's PoV) scene at the end of this chapter. Anyone wanna make any guesses who the son is? XD (Admittedly, after a read-through, I'm not 100% certain there's enough about the four possibilities for you lot to actually figure it out. *shifty*) It'll be a fair-few chapters before you find out for sure.
> 
> Related, I didn't expect the first of these to sound like the son was going to betray Ed, but some of the reviewers sounded like they took it that way? Whoops~

Dinner didn't last much longer once everything had been sorted, and Ed and Mustang left out the back garden together. 

"I'll still go into Resembool once a week," Mustang murmured once they were a few houses down from Grumman's. "There's one call I won't trust to military lines right now." 

Ed nodded in understanding; better not to chance pointing the military or the terrorists at the Hugheses. "How long should it take for the phone line to be connected? Do you know?" 

"No more than three weeks." 

"I'll ring Marie for the number in three weeks, then." 

Which, talking about getting numbers and trusting military lines, he was going to need to find a way to keep in contact with his squad. He wasn't even sure exactly where half of them were posted – he'd have to get that information from them tomorrow – but the best way to handle it would be to have one of them collect any news and Ed could call them each week. Someone who it wouldn't be weird for them to be taking emergency calls in the middle of the day, preferably on a civilian line. 

Or someone who had access to a civilian that Ed knew would sooner cut off their own hand than sell information to the military, a civilian that was unlikely to be traced back to Ed. A civilian like Halling in Youswell, where Morgan was posted. But would he be willing? Ed hadn't spoken to him since he'd left after handing over the deed of the town, for all that he'd told Morgan to say hi from him. What had Halling taken from the recent press? 

Ed should ring him. _Before_ he decided if he was a viable go-between. "Payphone," he murmured. 

Mustang glanced at him, then raised his head to scan the empty streets ahead of them. They were still in a residential district, part of Central that Ed only knew from maps, so he had to trust the bastard when he motioned for them to take the next turn. 

It didn't take them long to come across a payphone – at least one of them knew this side of the city, and Ed should probably fix his own knowledge, if he was going to end up getting dragged out for secret dinner meetings – and Mustang leant against the outside wall as Ed stepped inside and picked up the receiver with one hand, pulling out a handful of change and diamonds from his pocket with the other. Since he couldn't even begin to guess what the Youswell Inn's number was, he rang the city switchboard and had them put him through. 

_"Youswell Inn,"_ a familiar young voice picked up. 

Ed allowed a smile to cross his face. "Is your dad there, Khayal?" he asked Halling's son. 

_"Yeah, hold on,"_ Khayal agreed, before muffling the receiver and shouting, _"Dad! Phone!"_

_"This is Mayor Halling Rowley,"_ Halling said as he picked up. 

Ed felt his smile widening into a grin at the title; it sounded good on him. "Hey, Halling. It's Ed Elric." 

_"Oh-ho! Our favourite State Alchemist."_ A roar of laughter and hooting came through from his end and Ed rolled his eyes. _"Imagine hearing from you, instead of about you, for once. You really supporting Grumman?"_

"Until he fucks up," Ed agreed. 

Halling chortled. _"Fair enough."_ There came the sound of something shutting from his end, and the bar noise deadened. _"Military's been behaving themselves here, if you're worried about that,"_ he offered, his tone going serious. 

"I trust you to handle any problems that arise," Ed admitted. "I was actually hoping you could tell me what you know about a new addition? Second Lieutenant Lewis." 

Halling let out a thoughtful noise. _"He wasn't here for long. Got off the train, reported in, dropped his packs, then he was running right back out on one of the military cars, looking a bit like the world had just ended. Captain Hawker didn't look particularly pleased, but he ordered one of his soldiers to go with him. Said he needed Lewis to get to Central in one piece."_

Ed swallowed and nodded; he'd sort of expected something like that, as tired as Morgan had looked that morning. "You heard about the train bomb?" 

_"Everyone's heard about that cursed–"_ Halling started before cutting himself off with a whispered, _"Shit. He knew someone, didn't he?"_

"We both did, same people," Ed admitted, and Halling cursed again. 

_"I'm sorry, kid. And with those jackarses blaming you, too."_

Ed glanced out past the glass of the phone booth. "About that: I know some people who are collecting information for me, but I don't have a good way for them to pass it on to me." 

_"Still can't stay still?"_ Halling guessed, tone teasing. 

Ed scoffed. 

Halling's tone went serious, _"You want to use me as your between guy."_

"I want to use Morgan Lewis as my between guy," Ed corrected, because the last thing he wanted was to drag Halling and his family into some sort of military conspiracy any more than he already was, using their line as their point of contact, "but I'm developing a particular paranoia about military-controlled lines; I need a civilian line that someone can call at any hour, and I need someone on that line that I trust, but who can't be easily traced back to me." 

Halling was quiet for a long moment. _"You're making me tear up here, kid."_

Ed looked down at his handful of coins and diamonds and rubbed his gloved thumb against one of the latter. "If this goes to shit, there's a chance you'll take some of the heat," he warned quietly. 

_"Kid,"_ Halling replied just as quietly, _"after everything you did for us – after running that jack-shit Yoki out of town – there isn't a man or woman in this town that wouldn't walk through a fire for you, me doubly so."_

Ed squeezed his fist closed around his handful. "Now _I'm_ going to start tearing up," he warned, and Halling boomed out a laugh. "I haven't asked Morgan yet," he said once Halling had shut up. "Figured I'd best sort things with you, first." 

_" 'Preciate that,"_ Halling agreed, before, quietly, asking, _"You trust him, this Lewis?"_

"I don't know, yet," Ed admitted, finally slipping his hand back into his pocket, letting the coins and diamonds fall from his fingers. "But we've some mutual friends that seem to like him, and he didn't baulk when I insisted on a handshake rather than a salute–" Halling chuckled. "Shut up. So I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt." 

_"You want us to watch him?"_

Ed snorted. "You really need me to tell you to watch the military?" Halling chuckled again. "I just need you to let him in the front door once a week, for now. If you wanna drag his life story out of him, that's your prerogative." 

_"Fair enough. What if he doesn't agree to be your between guy? Could always happen."_

"I know that," Ed admitted, sighing; honestly, if Morgan was smart, he'd say no and walk away. "I dunno." 

_"I'll take your calls, kid,"_ Halling promised, and a lump formed in Ed's throat. _"With him or without him, we'll be here."_

"Dammit, Halling," Ed heard himself complain, the words catching at his throat. 

_"But you gotta promise to come through town again sometime."_

"Why? So you can overcharge me for sleeping accommodations?" Ed retorted, the words coming easier, and Halling roared with laughter. "Yeah," he agreed, "next time I'm out east, I'll find an excuse to get out there. Wrong train, probably." 

_"We'll keep a chair warm for you,"_ Halling promised, and Ed swallowed before another lump could take root in his throat. _"You take care, kid."_

"Likewise. And let me know if I need to rush out there and beat anyone into line." 

_"Or bribe with vanishing gold?"_ Halling suggested. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about." 

Halling hung up while he was still chuckling. 

Ed collected the coin the payphone spat back out at him and slipped it away as he joined Mustang in walking back to their hotels. "I don't like using my friends like this," he admitted, quiet enough that Mustang could ignore him. 

"Don't think of it as using them," Mustang replied nearly as quietly, and when Ed glanced over at him, he found the man watching him with tired eyes, "think of it as asking for their help." 

Asking for help? Isn't that one of those things that Darius had joked he needed to work on? "Semantics," he muttered. 

Mustang shrugged. "Maybe. But that squad of yours is loyal; I saw it back in March, and they showed it again this weekend. Whether you asked or not, they'd find a way to involve themselves." 

"I know that." 

"It's an especially irritating trait, isn't it?" 

Ed glanced over and found Mustang staring pointedly at him. He shoved his hands into his pockets and returned to staring straight ahead, trying to ignore how hot his face felt. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

"Five hundred twenty cenz is not equivalent to 'hopelessly loyal'," Mustang pointed out, his voice muted. 

Fuck Grumman for putting it like that, anyway. "So you owe me more money." 

Mustang caught his arm and stopped him in the middle of the pavement. "Ed," he said. 

Ed scowled up at the bastard. "What do you want from me?" 

"I'll settle for the truth, for once." 

" _Here_?" Ed demanded, motioning around at the near-empty streets; it was late enough on a Sunday night that most people had retreated to their beds or the bars and shadier businesses, but they weren't the only people out. 

Mustang shoved him backwards, into a dark alley, and Ed barely managed to keep his balance. 

"You're fucking insane," Ed snarled, yanking his arm from Mustang's grip. " _Fine_. It's not about the money. It's never been about the fucking money." Because that had just been a way to declare his support of Mustang's goals, that he would be willing to see the bastard sitting at the top of the country. But this... How could Ed even _begin_ to explain something that had taken him years to realise? 

"Six years ago," he heard himself say, realising it was true even as he spoke, "you gave me a future." 

"I gave you a path straight to hell!" Mustang hissed, the words as fervent as if he'd shouted them. 

"No." Ed met the man's dark eyes, looking past the reflection of a streetlamp to find that same old pain from all those months ago on the train staring back at him, the one that said he knew the price of watching someone you'd decided to protect suffer your bad choices. "I forged my own path to hell, and I dragged Al with me. I'd hit the bottom and I was going to fucking stay there, but you wouldn't let me. You didn't even fucking _know_ me–"

"I saw a _tool_!" Mustang insisted, and it was only because Ed was watching him so closely that he saw how much those words hurt. "I saw a quick jump to another promotion! As talented as you were–"

"You think I thought better of you?" Ed demanded, shoving a finger against Mustang's chest. "We both used each other, Mu– Roy!" Changing the name that came out at the last minute, hoping it would drive his point home. "So fucking _what_? You thought Al and I never cottoned on that you were only helping us because it helped you? It was equivalent!" 

"And now? What are you getting out of this?" Mustang motioned at the alley around them, and Ed knew he meant the whole fucking situation, not just the pile of debris that the city rubbish collection hadn't got to yet. "Alphonse is in Xing, whole and healthy; you don't need to be putting your life on the line for the military's whim any more." 

Ed looked down at his hands, unclenched them and pressed them tightly together in front of him. "You asked me, in Resembool," he said quietly, forcing the words out, "if this was because of Hohenheim." 

Mustang held very, very still. 

Ed drew his hands apart, looked at his gloved palms, wondered – again, always, a thousand times over like a whispered mantra he'd never been able to fully ignore, not for long – how it was that he had always been the only one to bleed for his greatest sins. "You're not the only one who wants to fix this country," he whispered, dropping his hands back to his sides and looking up into those tired, dark eyes again. "We've both got our sins; mine just happened to have been the cause behind four hundred years of Amestris history." 

"You're not responsible for the actions of Father, Ed," Mustang insisted. 

Ed tilted his head to the side. "And you're not responsible for the Ishvalan War of Extermination." 

"Someone had to fix it." 

"Yes," Ed agreed, "they do." Present tense, to Mustang's past. 

Mustang narrowed his eyes. 

Ed smiled at him, and it pulled at all the wrong muscles, ached all the way to his soul. "I think we can both agree I'd make a shit Führer, so I'm going to have to settle for dragging your depressed arse out of bed the next time you realise how much work this is going to be." 

"Be quiet." 

Ed reached out and pressed his hand against the black sash Mustang was still wearing over the formal uniform he'd never changed out of. "Here's my equivalence," he admitted. "You're not the only one who needs to be saved from himself, sometimes. And, you're right, Al's in Xing." 

"What about Miss Rockbell or your team?" Mustang asked, sounding uncomfortable. 

Ed's smile twisted. "Darius and Heinkel both have too much animal in them, and Winry..." He shrugged. "You're the one who came." 

And then Ed realised what he was doing and snatched his hand back, taking a quick step away from the bastard. "Enough," he insisted, turning towards the head of the alley and hoping he'd covered the reason for his embarrassment quickly enough. "I'm done with the touchy-feely shit." 

Mustang snorted and fell into step with him as he left the alley. "When are you leaving tomorrow?" 

Ed shrugged. "Bank, meeting with my squad, saying my goodbyes to Elicia and Gracia, dropping by Command and insulting old man Grumman–"

Mustang let out a sharp laugh that set someone's dogs in one of the flats above them barking. 

"Fuck you," Ed told him, trying to ignore the warmth that had bloomed in his chest at getting such an honest response from his CO in public. "After that, leaving, yeah." He sighed and curled his shoulders inward. "Hope I get to these fuckers before they try again." 

Mustang let out a quiet sigh of his own and they finished their walk in grim silence. 

-0-

Ed had spent an hour that night catching his team up, passing along the map Wackett had slipped him and making vague plans for tackling that base. They were all pretty much in agreement that they didn't want to involve the military, in case this group had ears to the ground, listening for noises of retaliation, but Darius and Heinkel wanted _someone_. So Ed had suggested asking Teacher and the two chimeras had traded smiles that probably would have terrified anyone else who saw them, then agreed. 

In the morning, Ed dressed in his normal uniform, complaining all the way – when Darius laughed at him, Ed informed him he'd be coming with to Command, since he seemed to enjoy the uniforms so much, which had changed the laughing to whining, and Heinkel had shaken his head at both of them – then left for the bank, trusting the two chimeras to get all their stuff down to the car and check them out. 

"I thought you hated the uniform," Lois said when Ed found her, Lisa, and Sabine outside the bank. 

"I have to go into Command to get the paperwork old man Grumman's holding over my head." 

Sabine snorted. "So you're going in uniform like a good soldier?" 

Ed scowled. "Fuck no. I don't wear a uniform out in the field, and Grumman was fine with that, so long as I wear one any time I have to visit one of the city commands." Then he snorted. "Anyway, no one looks at you twice if you're in uniform." 

"That's true," Lois admitted. "You just blend right in while you're wearing the uniform." 

"I...guess so," Lisa agreed uncertainly. 

"You'll see," Lois promised. "Give it a couple weeks." 

"Yeah," Sabine said tiredly, waving her bandaged hand at Lisa. "We didn't really have a normal first week." 

"Sabine," Ed murmured as a thought occurred to him, "are you sticking it out in the south?" 

She clenched her wounded hand into a fist and firmly stated, "You better fucking believe it." Then she dropped her hand back to her side and met his eyes tiredly. "Any chance I'll see you down there? I'm in South City." 

"Maybe," Ed hedged, because he couldn't really promise where Grumman's information and whatever leads he got out of this first group would send him. She slumped slightly and he touched her shoulder. "Hey. That's not a no, I just can't tell you if I'm gonna end up anywhere near the capital. But...did you want a ride down? There's room in the car for an extra person." 

Sabine blinked at him for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. When are you leaving? Today?" 

"Yup." 

"I'll have to get my stuff from the dorm, but sure, I'd love a ride." She offered him a tired smile. "Anything to avoid the train." 

Ed smiled back, and it felt just as tired. "I know." He straightened and glanced down the street in the direction of the dorms. "If the guys ever get here." 

Lois snorted. "Evan and Ben were waiting in the lobby of their dorm, so I told them to go get everyone else up and meet us over here." 

"When'd you get here?" 

"About ten minutes before you?" Lisa guessed, and the other two nodded. 

Ed snorted. "So we've probably got another fifteen minutes or so," he decided and the women laughed. "So, Sabine's in South, Lois is in East, and Evan's in North. Who's in West City?" 

"Me," Lisa offered. 

"Ed?" Lois asked, lowering her voice so it barely reached him, clearly knowing him way too well to assume he was asking just to make conversation. "What are you thinking?" 

Ed glanced at her, then put on his best smile. "My sister believes ice cream is the best follow-up for having to do something that sucks. What say we all get ice cream in the park once we're done here? The whole squad." 

All three women sent him sharp looks, and Ed just widened his smile in response. 

"Okay," Lois said for all of them, still staring at him. "Ice cream it is." 

Ed nodded. "Awesome. And then Sabine can go collect her things while I go insult old man Grumman." 

"Yeah, no way I want to be involved in that," Sabine muttered. 

Ed rolled his eyes. "Pretty sure he knows better than to expect a perfect soldier, by now." 

"Pretty sure _everyone_ knows better than to expect you to play the perfect soldier, by now," Lois retorted. "Even with you in uniform." 

Ed quickly took off his jacket and draped it over his arm, leaving him in his white button up, the black vest showing through as darker patches underneath. "Better?" he demanded. 

"Little bit." 

Ed rolled his eyes and quickly set about describing good places to eat in West and South City, for Lisa and Sabine, which managed to devolve into him and Lois debating which diner in East City was better, before the men finally showed up. 

"Man, and I call Mustang a lazy bastard," Ed complained, taking the chance to change the subject as it presented itself. 

"Shut up," Omar ordered, before draping himself over Ed's back and letting out a loud snore in his ear. 

Ed rolled his eyes. "I will drop you," he warned. 

"Don't tempt someone who can kick your arse, even on a bad day," Taylor suggested when Omar drew in a breath to retort. 

Notably, Omar let Ed go and took a careful step back. 

Taylor snorted. "Let's do this, then." 

"Oh!" Lois called before they could do more that turn towards the doors of the bank. "Ed's gonna treat everyone to ice cream after, so stick around." 

You know, Ed didn't _remember_ making that particular promise, but given how everyone's face lit up at the announcement, he knew he was going to be paying for them all. 

Oh well. He'd been thinking he should probably pull out some more cash while he was at the bank, since they didn't always end up places where they could leave a letter of credit. 

The teller they got was young, and clearly a little in awe of serving the Fullmetal Alchemist – Ed pointedly ignored Lois prodding him in the side – but was plenty happy to set up the account for the Halberstadts and keep Ed's name off it. He'd also been ridiculously happy to get some cash for Ed, and when he brought back the requested amount, Lois poked Ed hard in the side. "How expensive do you think we are?" she muttered. 

"You're not the only arseholes I have to feed," Ed retorted as he slipped the money away. 

As they stepped away from the window and started back to where their squad was waiting outside, Lois offered, "Sorry. I shouldn't have said you'd pay for ice cream." 

"Can you not?" Taylor asked. 

Ed rolled his eyes. "Please. I knew how to request reimbursement for travel costs before I turned in my first report to Mustang. I can pay for ice cream." 

"You can't get reimbursement for ice cream," Taylor insisted as they stepped outside to join the privates. 

"Ed's getting reimbursement for buying us ice cream?" Omar asked, putting on a comically wounded expression. "No fair!" 

Ed _could_ probably put in for reimbursement for the ice cream, since he was using it as a lure to discuss military business, but since he didn't really want their mole to mark this meeting... " _No_ ," he told them all, "I'm not getting reimbursed for buying you arseholes ice cream. I get reimbursed for buying Darius and Heinkel lunch while we're travelling. Well, partially." He grimaced. "Treasury gets snarly when I hand them a massive stack of receipts because I've been travelling for months." 

"Do they start crying when they see you approach?" Omar joked. 

Ed snorted. "Come on. Next person who makes a joke at my expense is buying their own ice cream." 

"Harsh," Morgan told him over the sound of Omar, Ben, and Greg making pathetic noises. 

Ed just rolled his eyes, resigned that he had a few children in his squad. 

Getting ice cream for ten adults, plus himself, proved to be a chore and a half, and Ed muttered, at least twice, "I am never complaining about getting ice cream with Elicia again." 

Thankfully, Lois nudged Taylor and Morgan, and the three second lieutenants managed to corral the privates and get them to sit around a couple picnic benches they'd dragged together while Ed was squaring up with the laughing owner. 

He managed to swallow a whole spoonful before Lois said, "What do you need from us?" 

Completely contrary to expectations, given the amount of sugar they all had in front of them, Ed found himself faced with ten serious faces, some of them sitting straight, others leaning forward to see him around their neighbours. Whether they'd guessed something was up before she'd spoken, or it was just something in Lois' tone that had caught their attention, it was clear that his entire squad knew this was more than just a group of friends enjoying ice cream together. 

Ed set his plastic spoon back into his bowl and sighed. "I need ears to the ground, listening for whispers," he explained, looking over them. "When one of these groups starts become a regular topic of conversation, they're already big enough to start doing things like thinking they can take on Briggs, or bomb passenger trains." 

"Take on Briggs?" Stephan repeated, eyes going wide. 

Ed offered him a tired smile. "They were a bit ahead of themselves," he offered, and a couple of them let out subdued chuckles. Ed rubbed a hand over his face and closed his eyes. "Where is everyone posted?" 

They went around and rattled off their postings while Ed marked each one on his mental map. Which was... Shit. They had pretty damn good coverage in both the west and east, and he suspected the same would have held true of the south, if not for the bombing, plus all four outer commands. Both Taylor and Ben were posted in the south part of the central area, but their postings were at cities that served as transfer points from the outer central circle and main lines out east and west, which meant they'd get a lot of rumours from other areas around central from travellers. 

"...Did someone plan this?" Morgan asked after a moment of silence, clearly seeing the same mental map Ed had just formed. 

Ed sighed. "Fucking manipulative bastard," he muttered, and someone choked on a laugh. He opened his eyes and looked around at them. "Mostly, I'm looking for signs that one of these groups is getting particularly active and where they are, but there's also a chance that members of the military are involved, and I _really_ need to know about that." 

"You think that's possible?" Greg asked quietly, looking more than a little worried. "Soldiers who are in one of these groups?" 

Ed hid his hands under the table, where he could clench them in peace, because there had to be someone in Central Command with ties to the group, given their experience with the reports he'd sent Grumman. "Yes." 

They all traded looks, some horrified, some sickened. 

He sighed. "These groups, they're being drawn together with a mix of pro-Bradley and anti-Grumman propaganda, but not everyone who supports Bradley and talks shit about old man Grumman are terrorists, nor are they looking to be. Most of the members of one of the groups I've picked up had no fucking clue what they were getting themselves into before they joined up. Others were just looking for an excuse to cause a little vandalism, or go shoot up a military compound as revenge for someone who ended up getting taken out by a soldier for one reason or another." 

"So, what are we listening for?" Lois asked. 

Ed took a deep breath and shook his head. "Look. This is... Everything with these groups, they're not fucking around. You get caught poking your noses around, or passing on information, there's a good chance you'll get hurt. More than just–" He shook his head and picked up his discarded uniform jacket from the seat next to him to wave at them. As he dropped it back down, looking at their firm stares, he swallowed. "If you want to walk away, do it. Now. I won't blame you. Because as soon as you let yourself get dragged into this mess, this– these shadows, that's it. You're in it, for good or ill." 

Sabine stretched out her arm and thumped her fist down in the middle of the table, her bandages almost seeming to shine where the sun broke through the surrounding trees and lit them. "Then I'm in it. For Nick and Rebecca and everyone else on that fucking train that didn't get lucky." She met his eyes, her own determined. "And I'm in it for you, you stupid shit; you think I'm gonna accept a ride from someone who just challenged a bunch of insane terrorists if I wasn't willing to walk through hell with him?" 

"All of that," Lois said as she extended her fist to the centre of the table. 

"Except the riding with you bit," Omar insisted as he followed suit. "But only 'cause you're going the wrong way." 

"And the walking through hell part," Ben added drily as he stretched out his fist. "Some of us don't believe in that nonsense." 

"Some of us do," Greg pointed out as he extended his fist. 

"You two are going to shut it before I beat you both around the head," Taylor threatened as he added his fist to the centre of the table, knocking it hard between Ben and Greg's fists as he did so. 

"I'm in," Morgan offered before anyone else could start bickering, his fist hitting firm against the wood of the table. "I'm not afraid of a little danger, and I didn't need to hear this lot's stories to know sitting at your side's worth it." 

"Rebecca would never forgive me if I walked away now," Lisa whispered, her own fist touching the table lightly, but her expression showing every inch of her determination. 

"I'd never forgive _myself_ ," Stephan insisted, and he reached right past the middle of the table to cover the hand Ed had left on the table after he'd dropped his jacket. "I know who got me posted less than an hour from my sisters." 

Evan was the last one to put his fist in the middle, his expression tight. "I'm in," he said, "because you told me I could leave." 

"That's not–" Ed started, his throat tight. 

Evan met his slightly wild stare with eyes that burned with determination. "Like hell I'm going to walk away from the first person who's cared enough to let me pick what I want to do." 

"That's shit," Omar said. When Evan turned a glare on him, he held up the hand that wasn't in the middle of the table. "The part where Ed's the first person to give you a choice! I'm not judging you, Evan. God." 

Ed closed his eyes and took a deep breath, tried to remember what Mustang had said about thinking of this as _asking for help_. "Okay," he said, looking back up around at them. "Okay," he said again, stronger, "but no unnecessary risks." 

"Says the idiot who let Parnall punch him in the face," Lois muttered. 

"Shut up," Ed ordered, and something about his tone had her snapping her mouth shut and straightening. He fisted the hand that was still under the table, let the ache centre him a bit. "Mustang's getting a line put out to Ishval, no more than three weeks. Soon as you see the number, you fucking _memorise_ it. And if you ever see or hear something implicating a member of the military – private or lieutenant _fucking_ general – I don't care if you think they saw you or not, you get the fuck out and you find a pay phone and call Mustang, and then you find somewhere to lay low. He'll know how to get a hold of me, and I will _be there_.

"Same if you happen across one of their hideouts. I don't care how you found it, I don't care how safe you think it would be to snoop around and make sure, you get word to me and you leave it the _fuck_ alone. Don't report it to your commanding officer, don't start thinking your command can handle it, none of that shit. Your _only_ duty is to let me know, and then you either dig yourself a fucking hole and _stay there_ until I come find you, or you forget what you saw and stick with other people until I let you know it's safe. Am I fucking _clear_?"

Some of them were grudging, but everyone nodded. 

"Why _not_ send in a local team?" Morgan asked, his tone suggesting he was asking for clarification, rather than trying to find fault with Ed's orders. 

"Three reasons," Ed said, gently dislodging Stephan so he could tick off his reasons on his fingers. "One, I'm not killing anyone; everyone involved is going to trial, and it's up to the legal system to decide if they meant harm or were blackmailed into their position. Two, as soon as someone unexpected enters that hideout, guns will start firing, and there's a good chance whoever's at the lead is going to take a hit; Darius, Heinkel, and I know how to enter under a hail of bullets, but I'm going to bet none of you do." They all shook their heads, some of them grimacing. "It's not military training," he offered with a shrug, before continuing, "Three, one of these groups got their hands on bombs, and others have managed to booby-trap what appears, from the outside, to be the front door; if you don't have an alchemist capable of facing down whatever crazy shit these fuckers set, you're very likely to end up in hot water." 

"Literally?" Greg asked, sounding like he couldn't help himself. 

Ed sent him a flat look. "We got lucky; they hadn't been expecting visitors, so the water wasn't boiling." Actually, that had been one of their near misses, and the idiots had cut the power before they'd fled, so the heating element under the water had been dead for almost an hour before he and his team had broken in and got tepid water dumped on them. They'd learnt to watch for booby-traps after that, and it had saved their lives from a particularly vicious kitchen knife trap. 

"...I am _never_ entering one of these buildings," Greg decided, and Ben and Omar both let out slightly strained snickers. 

"What are we listening for?" Lois asked. 

"For hideouts, you're listening for news of military caravans or outposts being attacked. You're also listening for word of missing food from the smaller towns' storehouses, or people's houses being broken into and unusual items – blankets or clothing, most commonly – being stolen. The stealing from civilians will probably come first, but you're all placed in good-sized cities, save Morgan, so you're not likely to hear about the smaller crimes. But you'll hear about attacks on the military, and those will usually be accompanied by reports of the direction the group was heading. They might even have an idea of where the hideout is, though I can guarantee that's a false lead to distract the military, so ignore it. All I need is where they attacked and which direction they ran. 

"For military personal, use your best judgement, I guess?" He gave a helpless shrug. "Being pro-Bradley isn't a crime, and even members of the military are allowed to complain about old man Grumman behind closed doors." 

"Exhibit A," Ben commented, motioning toward Ed. 

Ed rolled his eyes. "If they mention a group they're in and attach it to pro-Bradley sentiments, or they're talking about something that could constitute mutiny, or if you hear them saying to avoid an area and then that area is attacked..." They all nodded in understanding. "Anything that you overhear that sets your skin crawling, get out and let me handle it." 

"Even if they outrank you?" Evan asked quietly. 

Ed smiled, and it wasn't a nice smile. "Even then," he agreed, because he could ring up Grumman somewhere along the road and get his permission to act in his stead. Or, if he had to, get his forgiveness retroactively. (Or just tell him to go fuck himself; Grumman hadn't set him on this bullshit mission because Ed cared about rank or followed orders, he did it because Ed would handle it by any means necessary.) 

"Ed?" Lisa asked. "What if something happens and we can't reach Mustang?" 

Ed smiled. "Contacting Mustang is only in case of an emergency," he offered. "And if he's not there, talk to Captain Hawkeye, instead." He waited until they'd all nodded before he picked up his jacket and pulled out the number of the Youswell Inn from the inner pocket. "For everything else, you're going to be calling the Youswell Inn." 

"Wait, what?" Morgan called, straightening. 

Ed's smile widened as he set the paper he'd written the number on down on the table. "Mayor Halling's willing to take messages at any hour, and I trust him as much as I trust any of you." He clapped his hands together, envisioned the array he wanted, then touched the paper in front of him, cutting it into ten equal pieces, each with the number copied over faithfully. "If his son answers the phone, ask for one of his parents – Halling or Piper – then tell them you're calling for me. They'll take your information and, one day a week, your pick–" he said, looking straight at Morgan. 

"Uh, Tuesdays?" 

Ed shrugged and nodded; he could make that work. "You be in the inn between nineteen and twenty-one hundred and I'll ring through. Get there a bit early, maybe, to sort through everyone's reports, so you can pass on the ones that sound more in need of attention first." He eyed him. "Can you do that?" 

Morgan straightened. "Yes, sir." 

Ed pointed a finger at him. "Don't call me 'sir'." 

Someone muffled a laugh. 

Morgan's mouth twisted with a helpless sort of smile and he slumped. "I'll work on that." 

"Good man." Ed tapped the papers. "Everyone take one, this is the number you need. I'd prefer you memorise it, but it's not as vital as you knowing the Ishval line off the top of your head, so do what you can." He watched everyone take one of the papers and slip them away. "One last thing, though you'll probably figure this out pretty quickly, if you don't know it already: Military lines have a bad habit of being bugged. Sometimes it's to get one up on someone else, sometimes it's because intelligence is full of suspicious fuckers, who knows." 

"Use civilian lines?" Lois guessed drily. 

Ed grinned at her. "Always. Find a payphone, or get friendly with the owners of the bakery or coffee house you visit all the time, or just make a habit of calling from your parents' house, for those of you close to home. Anything civilian. The only time I'll forgive you using a military line, is if you're ringing Mustang because of an emergency and the military phone is your only safe option." He looked them over. "Anything else?" 

"But what if we have an _emergency_ and can't get through to Mustang? Or his captain?" Lisa asked, slightly more insistent this time. 

Ed frowned, then shook his head. "Call old man Grumman." Not the best option, given they suspected there was a mole close to him – and if Grumman's line wasn't bugged, someone was seriously failing at life – but if something went down before Mustang could take calls, Grumman was the only other one who would have the means of getting a hold of Ed. (And by means, he meant Chris' information network, which he knew kept tabs on him, if only because he'd _always_ got his post on Friday or Saturday while in the west, same as with Armstrong's people in the north.) 

"Call the _Führer_?" Lisa squeaked, and Evan patted her shoulder. 

Ed met her wide stare. "Yes." 

"Or, if it's before nineteen hundred on Tuesday, call Youswell," Morgan pointed out, before turning to Ed. "Fair?" 

"Fair. Though," he added with a shrug, "I'd still rather you try Mustang first. Not because I think Morgan can't handle it, but because Mustang has access to other resources, people who can protect you until it's safe." He waited for everyone to nod, then repeated, "Anything else?" 

They traded looks and shook their heads. 

"Awesome." Ed clapped his hands together, envisioned the necessary array, then refroze his melted ice cream and settled in to eat it while his squad laughed at him. 

He still felt a bit like he was using them, but at least he had given them the means to keep themselves safe while they were snooping through shadows. That was something. 

(It would have to be.) 

-0-

Since Heinkel and Darius had agreed to meet him over at the Hugheses', Ed led Sabine over there once they'd parted from the others, joking, "I suppose I'll trust you with my sister." 

Sabine snorted. "Four older brothers. Sure that's wise?" 

"I'll take the chance," he decided before knocking on the door. 

"Elicia!" someone called from inside just before the door was pulled open, and Elicia beamed up at him. 

Ed rolled his eyes. "You're supposed to let your mum open the door," he reminded her, before calling into the flat, "It's me!" 

"But I know your knock," Elicia insisted in that disgruntled tone of voice that meant she was pouting, as she wrapped her arms around his leg. 

"Princess," Mustang said on a sigh before he pulled open the door the rest of the way. His eyes skipped past Ed to where Sabine drew in a surprised breath behind him, then focussed back on Ed, one eyebrow raising. 

Ed sighed. Somehow, it hadn't even occurred to him that Mustang would be over. Well. "That cat's out of the bag," he muttered and Mustang's mouth quirked, while Elicia let out a confused noise. He shook his head and gently ruffled her hair. "Elicia, this is my friend, Sabine," he introduced, and Elicia let him go to peer behind him. "Sabine, my favourite little sister." 

Sabine crouched down and offered Elicia an uncertain smile. "Hi." 

Elicia, because she was precious, put on a wide smile and declared, "Your name's really pretty!" 

Sabine blinked, clearly thrown, before she smiled far more honestly. "Thank you. My mum got it from an Aerugonian saint." 

"A-e-ru-go-ni-an," Elicia repeated carefully. "What's that?" 

Ed left that to Sabine to manage, stepping closer to Mustang and quietly offering, "Sorry. I offered her a ride back to South City, since it's not that far out of our way." 

Mustang shrugged. "Given Second Lieutenant Hansa already knows of my relationship with Elicia and Gracia, I expected it was only a matter of time before the rest of your squad also became aware." 

"True enough," Ed admitted, shaking his head. "Is my team here? I didn't see the car out front." Though he knew there was parking behind the building, so he hadn't been too concerned by that. 

Mustang's mouth twitched. "They were in the middle of a tea party." 

Ed, having seen his team suffer one of Elicia's tea parties before – the cups were actually too small for Darius to comfortably hold the handles or saucers of, so Elicia let him use one of her extra teapots – couldn't stop from bursting out into laughter. A lot of the stress that had built up since he'd got up that morning left him with the laughter, and he leant forward, pressing his forehead against Mustang's chest. 

Mustang was still just long enough for Ed to notice it, before his hand came up to rest on Ed's back, warm and comfortable in a way that really should have set off alarm bells in Ed's head. "Feeling better?" he murmured. 

"Yeah," Ed admitted before straightening and taking a step back. "Ugh, I hate you," he added, mostly because he needed that little bit of space the words afforded him. 

"Of course you do," Mustang agreed, before calling, "Elicia. You left your tea guests alone." 

Elicia's eyes went wide and she shot Ed a horrified look. "Oh no! Mr Gorilla said he'd drink all the tea if I did that again!" 

Ed covered his grin. "If Mr Gorilla drinks all your tea, let me or your Uncle Roy know and we'll set him straight." 

Elicia relaxed and grinned. "Okay!" she chirped, before tugging on Sabine's sleeve. "Would you like some tea?" 

Sabine glanced up at Ed, who shrugged and mouthed 'It's imaginary,' then offered Elicia a smile. "I'd love some tea," she agreed. 

"Yay! Big Brother and Uncle Roy, too," Elicia insisted as Sabine got up to follow her into the flat. 

"I wanna say hi to your mum, first," Ed replied. 

"And I'm full," Mustang was quick to add. 

"Awww..." Elicia complained. 

"Weak," Ed coughed into his hand, and Mustang turned a narrow-eyed look on him. 

"Let's leave Ed and the brigadier general," Sabine suggested, looking vaguely concerned. "We have to go stop Mr Gorilla, right?" (And Ed was really glad that Al had bought those stuffed animals, now, because there was a ready explanation for the names Elicia used for his team, which didn't have to involve the fact they were chimeras.) 

"Oh!" And then Elicia was rushing past Mustang into the flat. 

Sabine shot Ed a flat look before hurrying after her, and Ed knew he was going to be explaining this one to her later. (He should probably explain it to his whole squad, at this point; Mustang was right, they were going to find out that he and Ed were equally attached to the Hugheses.) 

"I have pictures of you taking part in a tea party, you know," Ed pointed out as he stepped inside. 

"Which you can keep hidden away," Mustang returned flatly, "unless you want me asking your team for embarrassing stories." 

Given that his team had seen him as a bad patient, drunk, and various levels of debauched, Ed grimaced and cleared his throat. "Right. I'll just burn those pictures, then." 

Mustang, because he was an absolute _bastard_ , laughed. 

Ed huffed at him and made for the kitchen where, unsurprisingly, he found Gracia. "Hi." 

"Hello, Ed," she replied with a fond smile, holding out an arm for a hug, which Ed didn't even pretend to avoid. "I heard an extra person?" 

Ed nodded and leant against the worktop a little ways down from where she was kneading some dough. "One of my squad, Sabine Hamilcar. She's posted down south, so I offered her a ride. Figured she might appreciate an excuse to avoid the train for a bit longer." 

Gracia nodded in understanding. "Have you seen the paper?" 

"Paper?" Ed repeated, just before today's paper was held out to him by Mustang. "Thanks," he murmured, straightening and unfolding the paper over the worktop. Unsurprisingly, the front page article covered the memorial, with a list of the deceased acting in place of a photo. At the bottom were a list of related articles, one of which was titled _'Fullmetal Alchemist Responds to Terrorist Statement'_. "Ho boy," Ed said as he turned to the relevant page. 

Someone had taken a picture of him and Lisa standing at the podium, Ed's hand on her shoulder. Lisa looked heartbroken, while Ed thought he looked more tired than anything else, but his stance was more one of protection and support than overly familiar, so there was that. Also, "I am never letting Heinkel put my hair back again," he muttered as he looked at the photo caption: _'Lieutenant Colonel Elric stands with subordinate in remembrance of Private Rebecca Flanders.'_

"I think you look handsome with your hair back," Gracia told him, brushing a hand against his bangs. 

"I look like Hohenheim," Ed retorted. 

"Your father," Mustang murmured, and Gracia let out a noise of understanding. "We'll have to take your word for it." 

Ed grimaced. "Yeah, he was a series-of-words-I'm-not-allowed-to-say." Gracia laughed. "Consider yourselves lucky. Well," he amended, glancing at Mustang, "somewhat. You still had to _listen_ to him." 

"Not that you mention it," Mustang retorted, "I _do_ see the resemblance. Figuratively." 

'Fuck off,' Ed mouthed at him. 

"Both of you, stop it," Gracia ordered with a laugh. 

Ed snorted and turned back to the article. It was surprisingly true to both the interview and Lisa's speech, and he suspected someone'd had an excellent memory. That, or had been writing a lot faster than Ed thought they had. The article painted him in a sympathetic light, which had him grimacing, but it was better than talking shit about him, he supposed. 

"They've changed their tune," he commented as he closed the paper and checked which one it was. "Pretty sure they weren't half so complimentary about me a week ago." 

"Don't go judging a whole paper by one journalist," Gracia suggested. "That one man just–" She tutted. 

"Really, truly, hugely hates my face?" Ed suggested and Mustang snorted. 

"Stop borrowing my daughter's phrasings." 

Ed grinned at her. "But she always giggles when I do." 

Gracia rolled her eyes and wiped her hands off on her apron. "I swear she comes up with new ones just for you," she muttered, and Ed laughed at that, because it wouldn't surprise him in the least. She opened a drawer and pulled out a key, which she then held out to Ed. "Here. It's past time you had one." 

Ed blinked at it for a moment, thrown, then met her smile with a stare that felt a little wild. "I–what?" A key? He'd never had any use for them, before, beyond the keys for the car or hotel or dorm room keys, but those were...completely different. Not...this was like... 

Granny always kept a spare key on a hook under a loose board of the front porch, and Mum had kept one under the welcome mat on the stoop. Most people in Resembool kept keys outside a door, and Ed knew at least a half dozen of the hiding places, even after years away, because no one actually bothered to keep a key on them; the only real reason to lock doors was to keep animals out or, during the war, desperate soldiers or Ishvalans. (And, even then, you let those in as often as not, sat them down and gave them a hot meal, a soft place to sleep for the night, because you could always tell from the sound of their knock if they meant you harm or just needed somewhere safe for a night, and there had been far too many kind people in Resembool.) 

Even Teacher had never bothered giving Ed or Al keys, had just taught them an array to unlock doors without turning the lock completely useless. (Which Ed and Al had been foolish enough to use that night on Teacher and Sig's bedroom door, and had sworn each other to secrecy once they'd been able to speak past the trauma. Not that it stopped Teacher from kicking both their arses for it the next morning.) 

"It's to the flat," Gracia offered, looking a little uncertain. 

"I don't– I've never really...had one," Ed managed, put on his best smile and clapped his hands together. "Alchemy. No use for keys." 

Mustang sighed and reached past him to take the key, then slipped it into Ed's right pocket, left hand bracing Ed's shoulder when he started at the contact. "Right?" he asked. 

Ed swallowed and nodded because, yeah, that key settled in comfortably with his pocket watch ( _'Don't forget 3.Oct.11'_ ) and lighter, like a collection of the things he was fighting for. 

Mustang patted his shoulder. "Don't alchemise the front door, you'll ruin the lock." 

Ed turned a flat look on him, grasping for the stability of familiar insults, and asked, "Did your alchemy master teach you _anything_ other than how to light candles?" 

Mustang narrowed his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

"I need paper and a pen," Ed decided, turning back to Gracia, who was watching them with laughter-bright eyes. "He's an embarrassment to alchemists everywhere." 

"Go have tea with Elicia," Mustang ordered. "You already have a pupil, leave me out of it." 

Rather than having to explain that particular cover to Gracia, Ed obediently made his escape. 

(He did slip a paper with the array to unlock something without damaging it into Mustang's pocket during lunch, however, because Ed could attest to that being a useful one to know.) 

-0-

He followed his father into his office after dinner, standing at attention in front of his desk while the man sat, his chair creaking, and turned to stare up at him. "Your mother says you went out, today." 

"Yes, sir." 

"Where?" 

Did it really matter? You'd think, him having joined the military, he'd be free to come and go without having his actions questioned. "The bank, sir." 

His father raised both eyebrows at him. "The bank," he repeated flatly. "And why were you at the bank?" 

"My academy squad wanted to start an account for the family of Ni– of Private Halberstadt, since the military doesn't pay survivor benefits to parents or siblings." 

His father scoffed. "As well we don't. Do you know how many stupid young privates get killed at the borders every year? The treasury would be broke within a month!" 

He clenched his jaw and stared past his father, didn't trust himself to meet his eyes and keep from saying something that would get him whipped. 

His father snorted and the leather of his chair creaked. "I do hope you didn't try adding any money to that account." 

"No, sir," he admitted, didn't mention that Ed wouldn't let any of the new privates add any money, and for far more altruistic reasons than his father. 

His father nodded, as though he'd expected as much; it was as close to pride as he ever showed. "Good. Was that everything? You were out longer than I would have expected a trip to the bank to take." 

He was being timed now? Or had he been followed? "E– Lieutenant Colonel Elric treated us all to ice cream, as a sort of 'thanks for coming' thing." 

His father scoffed again. "Elric is too soft." 

Soft? 

"Well, I suppose he _is_ Mustang's dog." 

_Dog_? Ed wasn't– He was–

He bit the inside of his cheek, let the flash of pain push back his anger and hoped his father hadn't noticed. 

"Fine." He hadn't. "Did you talk at all?" 

"Yes, sir," he agreed, because it wouldn't be hard for his father to verify they'd sat together for a while. 

"About?" 

It occurred to him, then, that he had a choice: He could bow down to the loyalty that had been beat into him his whole life, follow the man sitting before him. This man, who didn't care a smidge that families could be struggling to make ends meet while mourning their son or daughter, who couldn't even remember the name of his own daughter, who had died the night after his son had been born. This man, who, reportedly, hadn't flinched at sending his subordinates out into a hail of bullets on the battlefield, while he stood behind a barrier, who scoffed at the sacrifice of soldiers of the military he'd dedicated his life to. This man, who called a national hero a _dog_.

Or he could give his loyalty to Ed. Who had never once asked for it, had seemed honestly surprised that he had it. Who had once taken a punch for Rebecca without flinching, had sent money to the Halberstadts, even when Nick's mum hadn't wanted anything from him. Ed, who had looked as wrecked as any of them at the funeral and the memorial, had made sure someone had spoken for Rebecca, had remembered the names of Nick's sisters. Ed, who had warned them again and again to _be careful_ while getting information for him, to get the hell out if they thought they were in trouble, to let him know and _he would be there_.

He met his father's stare evenly and stated, "Memories, sir. We never really had the chance, after the funeral or the memorial, to talk about Privates Halberstadt and Flanders." 

It hadn't been a hard choice. 

His father held his stare for a long moment, then sighed. "Nothing about Elric and Mustang visiting Grumman at his house last night?" 

He blinked. But, he'd thought Ed and Mustang were supposed to be on a double date last night? Unless... Had that been some sort of code? 

"No, sir," he told his father, perfectly honest. Though he could guess, now, where Ed had picked up the idea to ask them to be his information network. Or, more likely, been pushed into it. 

His father nodded. "No," he allowed, "I suspect Elric was warned against sharing anything with you privates." He opened one of the drawers of his desk. "You're dismissed." 

He saluted. "Yes, sir!" 

Then he went upstairs to write a note to pass on to Morgan before they returned to their posts; Ed would want to know someone had noticed him and Mustang visiting the Führer's place, and he'd know best how to pass that on to his commanders.

.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some kissing between Ed and Darius? (Do I really need to warn for this shit? Is anyone who's sticking it out still actually disgusted by Ed having a thing with his team?)
> 
> Couple of people have been having trouble with remembering Ed's squad, so I'll put together a listing tomorrow – today is con recovery – and put a link in the beginning of chapter 14.

Getting the promised files from Grumman hadn't taken long, and Ed and Darius had used one of the communal bathrooms in the male dorms to change into civilian clothing, while Heinkel rolled his eyes at both of them and Sabine snickered. 

Ed waited until they'd passed through the city limits of Central before pulling open the folder Grumman had given him and using the light of the setting sun to go through it. And it was actually kind of good that Sabine already knew what he was up to, because there's no way he would have trusted himself to do that otherwise, given how focussed he could get. 

"Anything?" Heinkel asked when Ed finally packed it all back up. 

"A couple of smaller groups closer to the border, probably being supplied arms by Aerugo," Ed offered and Darius let out a disgusted noise from where he was driving. "I know, but our enemies _like_ it when we're fighting against ourselves." He tapped the edge of the folder against his automail knee. "There's one larger group out near Fotset, but they're too far out to be the fuck-shits we're looking for; Wackett's lead is still our best bet." 

" _Wackett_ gave you a lead?" Sabine demanded. 

"Mm-hm." 

"The same Wackett who you used to have arguments about Bradley with?" 

Ed offered her a grim smile. "It's amazing how tragedy will change your tune, don't you think?" 

Sabine flinched. 

Ed sighed and slumped in his seat. "I'm sorry, Sabine, that was crude. But I wouldn't be surprised to find that Wackett knew about the group he passed on because he'd been looking to join." 

"Are you going to turn him in?" she asked, and Heinkel glanced back at him. 

Ed shrugged. "With what evidence? Maybe he came across their tracks over the course of his normal duties, or happened to overhear it from someone careless." Not that Ed believed any of that; Wackett's map had been too detailed for him not to have been there before, or have got it from someone who had. "All I've got is his lead, and the fact that he turned it in on his own would earn him a reprieve under military law." 

"So," Darius interrupted, "Fotset after?" 

Ed slipped the folder into the pocket he'd added to the back of the front bench months ago. "Unless something more viable pops up," he agreed before leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes. "I'm going to sleep while I can. Keep your voices down or I'll pull out my knife." 

Darius scoffed but, notably, kept his voice down, same as the other two. 

-0-

"You want us to leave you in Rush Valley?" Darius guessed later that night, while Heinkel and Sabine were both sleeping in the back and Ed was driving. "Take her down to South City?" 

Ed nodded. "Gives you arseholes something to do that _doesn't_ involve testing how mobile I am without my leg." 

"Spoilsport." 

"You're welcome to walk the rest of the way." 

Darius snorted and shifted in his seat. "Do you want us to snoop around town while we're down there?" 

Ed tilted his head to one side and considered that for a moment, staring out over the dark road ahead of them. "Might as well," he decided. "Take a day, then head back up. I can do some reconnaissance if I get in before you." 

"Be careful," Darius warned him. 

Ed glanced over at him, nodded in response to the honest concern in his eyes, as much as to his words. "I know." And then, to lighten the mood a bit, he said, "Don't get distracted by some pretty-boy in South City." 

Darius' head came down to rest lightly against Ed's shoulder, just enough pressure that Ed couldn't miss him, but not enough to actively distract him. "You're the only pretty-boy for me," he promised sweetly. 

"I'm not a pretty-boy, fuckwit." 

"On the other hand," Darius added, head still resting lightly on Ed's shoulder, "you're probably the most disagreeable pretty-boy I know." 

"I will stab you." 

Darius chuckled and his hand came down to cover Ed's thigh. "Promises." 

Ed let go of the wheel just long enough to clap his hands together and activate the array to manipulate the carbon in his clothing, which he then set to shifting under Darius' head. Not to form his shield, just for the motion. 

Darius jerked back as if he'd been burnt. " _Fuck_. Do you have any idea how creepy that feels?" 

Ed quirked an eyebrow at that because, seriously, _he_ was the one wearing the carbon fibre. 

"Shut up." 

" _Both_ of you shut up," Heinkel growled from the back seat. 

Ed glanced over at Darius and, seeing his wide grin, reached over and covered his mouth. "You can still get out and walk," he warned quietly. 

Darius huffed, but he kept his mouth shut when Ed pulled his hand away. 

Well, for a while. 

-0-

They got in at Rush Valley about two hours before the would normally stop for dinner the next day, and Ed wasn't the only one who was glad to climb out of the car and stretch. 

"Please tell me," Sabine said as she stretched her back, "that this wasn't a normal travel day for you." 

Ed shrugged while Darius started snickering. "I could lie?" he offered. 

Sabine rubbed tiredly at her face. "I'm never complaining about getting stuck behind a desk. _Ever_."

Ed snorted at that. "Now who's lying?" he said, before walking around to the boot and pulling out his suitcase. 

"Do you want us to stay the night?" Heinkel asked, glancing towards where the sun was starting its slow descent towards the horizon. 

Ed shrugged. "You can. I don't need babysitters." 

"Sure you don't," Darius agreed. 

Ed slammed the boot closed and pointed at him. "Just for that, smartarse, you can pay for your _own_ fucking dinner." 

Sabine wandered away from them, making her way towards the train tracks, and stopped just short of the safety barrier. Trading shrugs with Darius and Heinkel, Ed followed her, the chimeras following behind him. As they reached her, Sabine pointed one shaking finger down the line, past the Rush Valley station, at where the tracks crested a short hill, and said, "There. Just the other side of the hill." 

It took Ed a second to realise what she meant, but then it hit him like one of Teacher's punches and he drew in a sharp breath. "The bomb?" 

None of the papers he'd seen had said where along the line the train had exploded, just said it was the Central-South City line. He'd expected it to have been closer to Dublith, honestly, given where the most likely hideout was. 

"Yeah." Sabine drew her arm back against her chest, her eyes haunted. "They said it was lucky," she continued, her voice cracking every few words. "Five minutes sooner, and the explosion would have ripped through Rush Valley. Five minutes later, we would have been too far for the doctors here to help." 

Ed's mind caught on the 'five minutes sooner', his eyes casting over the space between the tracks and what he could see of the main street, couldn't help but calculate the distance to Garfiel's shop. Would the explosions have reached? Would Winry have–?

He was running for town before he realised it, only distantly aware of Heinkel and Darius shouting his name behind him. 

First the message aimed at him, then the date, and now the proximity to his best friend and mechanic? He'd guessed it already, but now he was certain: Whoever was masterminding this had planned everything with him in mind. Left the specifics to their people, but _Ed had been the target_. And Winry–

She'd been in danger again. _Because of him_.

Winry was sitting in the main part of the shop, looking the same as ever, expression intent as she worked on some guy's arm while he sat there watching her with a grateful smile. Seeing her loosened the vice that had clamped around Ed's chest, and he caught himself on the nearest building, slumped against it and took a moment to just fucking _breathe_ while he watched her work. 

She was okay. She was alive. Those bastards had _missed_. They'd managed to wing him, but they'd missed _her_.

"Ed!" he heard Darius shouting from a distance. 

Winry's head came up, her focus ruined, and their eyes met for a moment before she was shoving away from her work and running across the main road. "Ed!" she called. 

He pushed away from the building and took a few steps forward to meet her, caught her in a hug that was probably too fucking tight, but her hold was just as desperate. "You're safe," he heard himself whisper, his voice coming out close to _ruined_. "You're okay." 

Ed couldn't really say how long they stood there like that before he heard Darius say, "Oh, he found his girlfriend. Should have guessed." 

"Shut up," Ed said, carefully disentangling himself from Winry. When he caught her rubbing at her eyes, he sighed. "Why do you always have to cry?" 

"Shut up, Edward Elric!" Winry shouted, and Ed barely managed to dodge the spanner she swung at him. "I was _worried_ about you! Because you're stupid and careless and you're always making yourself a target and–!"

Her legs gave out under her, and Ed jumped forward to catch her before she completely collapsed, people around them calling out in concern. "And you're calling me the stupid one," Ed said with a sigh as he picked her up. "Let's get you back inside." 

"Put me down!" Winry ordered before hitting Ed's back with her spanner. "I can walk faster than your short legs!" 

"I don't trust you to walk, you clumsy oaf! You're going to fall down again!" 

Winry's only response to that was to hit him on the head with her spanner. Twice. 

"I'm gonna fucking drop you if you do that again," he snarled at her. 

"Put–" she hit him with the spanner "–me–" and again "– _down_!"

Ed dropped her onto the shop floor before she could hit him again. "Fine!" 

"You're the worst!" 

"You're worser!" 

"That's not a _word_ , bean-brain!" 

"I just made it one, ugly-face!" 

"Alchemy freak!" 

"Automail freak!" 

"Ah, young love," Darius said from behind Ed. 

Ed waited to dodge the spanner until the last possible minute, ensuring the chimera would never see it coming. 

"What did you do to my leg?" Winry demanded as Ed helped her to her feet, Darius whimpering about how his face hurt behind him. 

" _My_ leg is fine," Ed insisted. 

"You're limping," Winry pointed out. 

"I _grew_."

Winry levelled a suspicious look on him. 

"I didn't fucking _damage_ it! Why does everyone always assume I'm going to walk out the front door and step on a landmine or something?" 

Winry pulled out a spare spanner and pointed it at him. "Because I _know you_ ," she informed him while he held up his hands in a show of surrender. "You do stupid shit like go north without cold-resistant automail." 

Okay, so Ed didn't have a good response for that that wasn't guaranteed to get him brained with the spanner. So he kept his mouth shut. 

Winry pointed at a chair. " _Sit_."

Ed sat down and stayed there while she walked back to her original customer. 

Darius came over to sit next to him, Heinkel and Sabine following. "She's brutal," Darius complained, one hand held to his forehead. 

"You really need to shut up about her and me getting together," Ed replied drily as he leant forward. "Let me see." 

"He's fine," Heinkel promised as he sat Ed's suitcase down next to him. Then he stepped up behind him. "Let me see your head." 

" _I'm_ fine," Ed insisted, even as he let Heinkel check him over, wincing when he prodded at a tender spot. "I have a hard head." 

"Hadn't noticed," Darius muttered, and Ed kicked him under the table. (He was nice, he used his right leg.) "Ow! You two deserve each other." 

"I'll kick you with the other foot in a minute," Ed warned him. 

"Me thinks the lady doth– _OW_!"

"You deserved that," Heinkel informed him, while Sabine started laughing a bit helplessly. 

Heinkel had found some ice and forced Ed to hold it to his head by the time Winry finished, and she came over to them as soon as she'd waved her previous customer off. She blinked in surprise at Sabine, then held out her hand. "Winry Rockbell, Ed's mechanic." 

Sabine smiled and accepted her hand. "Private Sabine Hamilcar. Ed was my squad commander at the academy." As they let go, she added, "You helped with the train, right? I recognise your voice." 

Winry blinked again, then took a closer look at Sabine, her eyes very obviously catching on the remainder of bandages at her throat and hands, the healing scabs along her jaw and up her cheek. "Yeah," she agreed quietly. "I'd just got off the phone with Ed when I heard the explosion." 

Ed couldn't keep himself from stiffening. "I'm sorry," he offered quietly, hating how his voice shook. "I put you in danger again." 

"It wasn't your fault," Winry insisted. 

"I know that." 

She kicked his real leg a few times, until he glared up at her. "It wasn't your fault, Ed." 

"I _know_ that," he insisted. 

Winry let out an irritated noise. "I hate your guilt complex!" 

"I don't have a–"

"Shut up," Winry ordered, pointing her spanner at him, and Ed swallowed the rest of his words, eyeing the tool warily. "You have a guilt complex. Al agrees with me, you're outvoted, so shut up." She turned to the others while Ed closed his eyes and shifted the ice on his head; suddenly, he had a massive headache. "Were you four eating here?" 

"If it's not too much trouble," Heinkel agreed. 

"We're not staying overnight, though," Darius added as he stood. "Taking Sabine down to South City. Ed said he didn't want us around to see him hopping around on one leg." 

"Shut up," Ed muttered. 

Winry let out a quiet laugh. "That's fine. The house is through this way, come on," she directed, leading the way into the actual house. "Ed, close the gate," she called back over her shoulder. 

Ed sighed and got to his feet to do so, leaving the ice on the table. When he turned back after latching it, he found Darius waiting for him, his gaze piercing. "What?" he demanded, starting for the house. 

Darius caught him as he tried to shoulder past. "She's right about the guilt complex." 

"Drop it." 

"No." Darius gave his shoulder a light shake. "What did you tell that vulture? You're gonna take his hate and punch this son of a bitch for him?" 

Ed scowled up at him. "Yeah." 

"Do the same thing with your guilt. Redirect it." 

Ed sighed, slumping against Darius' hold, and the chimera's hand shifted to hold him steady. "Easier said than done." 

Darius ducked down slightly, catching Ed's tired gaze. "Do you need one of us to stay?" 

"No." Ed forced himself to straighten, to meet Darius' eyes more firmly. "I need you two to get Sabine down to South City safely. And then I need you to meet me in Dublith so we can take these fuckers out." 

Darius sighed and pressed his forehead against Ed's, edging at the line of acceptable public behaviour. "Okay," he agreed quietly. "Keep your head down and be careful; if you weren't their target before, what you told those vultures will make you one." 

"I'm always a target, Darius," Ed admitted. "I'm fine with that. It's when they start aiming at everyone else–"

"I know. Guilt complex." 

"Shut up." 

Darius sighed again and brushed his lips against Ed's forehead before straightening. "We should get in there." 

Ed grabbed the man's jumper before he could pull away all the way and used his hold to yank the chimera down for a proper kiss, biting hard at the arsehole's mouth for entrance, and not even pretending to be gentle when it was granted, swiping his tongue across Darius' teeth, forcing his tongue into submission when it rose to meet him. 

When he started to withdraw, he tasted blood and swiped his tongue over the wound he'd made with his teeth. Darius let out a quiet groan, one that Ed was familiar with, and he flashed the arsehole a mean smile as they locked eyes. "You keep her safe," he ordered, "and you keep each other safe. And if either of you fuckers end up dead because you're stupid shits, I'm kicking my way through to the other side and punching you in the face. And then I'm gonna leave you to _Greed_."

"Don't be an arse," Darius whispered, even as a hand grabbed Ed's butt. 

Ed smacked the grabbing hand away. "You can have my arse when we've dealt with this group." 

"You can't die," Darius insisted, his eyes gleaming. "You promised, now, and I'm not into necrophilia." 

"You're disgusting." Ed shoved him back a few steps so he could get around the table he'd somehow got trapped against. "Get out of my face." 

"I said I _wasn't_ –"

"I don't care. Shut up." 

Darius chuckled at that, so Ed shoved him one last time, then turned and stalked into the house, leaving the arsehole behind. 

(To be fair, Darius was probably going to need a minute to manage his hard-on.) 

-0-

Dinner was fairly lively, with Garfiel making eyes at Darius and Heinkel, Ed taking turns sniping at Darius and Winry, and Winry attempting to get Heinkel and Sabine to tell her 'the stories Ed always avoids telling me'. It was a nice change from eating with just Darius and Heinkel, or the meals with the Hugheses and Mustang, where Elicia served as the main point of entertainment (mostly because, if Ed and Mustang started going, something was likely to get broken). 

Ed and Winry walked the three soldiers back to the car after dinner and saw them off. As they were walking back to the shop, Winry quietly asked, "How much of a rush job do you need this time?" 

Ed shrugged. "It's not. I'm meeting them in Dublith after they're done in South City, so I can wait a couple days." He glanced towards the train station. "I'll have to check when the next train going south is." 

Winry stopped. "You're taking the _train_?" she demanded. 

Ed sighed and offered her a helpless look. "What else can I do? I'm not going to wait for them to get back up here, and I refuse to give in to these fuck-shits' attempts to scare me off." 

"This is what always happens!" Winry shouted at him. "You get all puffed up and stupid about your pride and then you come home in _pieces_!"

"It was only three times," Ed tried. 

"That you managed to make it home?" Winry shot back. "And how many times did I have to run up to East or Central and find you in hospital? You're going to get hurt again!" 

"Then I'll get hurt!" Ed shouted, and she flinched. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at them. "Dammit, Winry. You really think the possibility of a couple scrapes is gonna put me off stopping these fuckers?" 

"It's never just a 'couple scrapes'." 

Ed opened his eyes to give her a flat look. "Fine. Do you think _anything_ will stop me?" 

"You could _die_."

"I have no intention in dying." 

"That's not how this works!" 

Ed crossed his arms over his chest and put on his best firm look. "I am _not_ going to die." 

Winry threw her hands up into the air and stormed off. 

Ed rubbed tiredly at his face. He knew that wasn't how it worked, but he also knew that going in expecting defeat meant you were already dead. 

Well, Winry would be less likely to throw something at him if he gave her time to cool off – he hoped – so he side-tracked to the station and checked the train schedule. They appeared to be operating on an every three days schedule, and one had gone through while they'd been eating dinner, so he definitely had time. 

Winry had already shut herself in her room by the time Ed got in, and Garfiel shrugged at him as he let him into the inpatient room, which he and Al had been made to use last time they'd been through, Winry and Garfiel in agreement that 'family can _not_ be expected to get a hotel room'. (And, well, he was technically a customer, this time, so he felt a little less bad for taking the room.) 

Without anything else to do, Ed went to bed. 

-0-

Conversation was stilted over breakfast, Winry still clearly irritated with Ed. Garfiel fled at the earliest opportunity, and Ed sort of wished he could do the same, but Winry grabbed his ponytail when he tried and coolly ordered, "Follow me," before storming down to his borrowed room. 

Feeling a bit like he was about to face the Gate again, Ed followed her. He stopped in the doorway, though, when he found her standing in the middle of the room, back to the doorway, and cleared his throat. "Win–"

Winry pointed with a spanner at the bed. "Trousers off," she ordered. 

"Winry–"

"Edward," she growled, turning to shoot him an angry look. 

Ed kicked off his boots, shimmied out of his trousers, and got on the bed. 

Winry, using the spanner to direct him, got him to straighten his legs together and took some quick measurements, then nodded to herself and walked out of the room. 

"Winry?" Ed called after her, more than a little freaked out by the silence. This was... In all the years they'd known each other, silence had never really been a _thing_. They snapped at each other over stupid shit and called each other names and she yelled at him for being careless and he yelled at her for throwing spanners at him and... 

This was _wrong_. This wasn't just about him putting himself or her in danger, but he had no idea what it _was_ about. 

_'Just apologise,'_ his inner Al suggested, in that 'I'm resigned to the fact that my brother is emotionally stunted and I need to lead him around by the hand' tone that he had perfected not long after Mum died. 

Winry walked back in, her head bowed over the temporary leg she was holding, and Ed offered, "I'm sorry." 

She froze, her arms tightening around the leg. "You're sorry," she replied, tone flat. "Do you even know why you're apologising?" 

Ed really, really wished she would just look at him, maybe give him a hint what he was supposed to say to that, but her bangs remained shading her expression. Left with nothing better, he admitted, "No." 

She continued her course to the bed. "Of course you don't," she agreed, before tossing the temporary down next to him. "Lay back." 

Ed sat forward, instead, pulling his automail leg up to his chest and wrapping his arms around it. "I'm not fucking _Al_ ," he reminded her, struggling to keep his voice even. "You're going to have to spell this out for me. What did I _do_?"

Winry's fists clenched at her sides, never a good sign, but she didn't pull out a spanner. Instead, she finally looked up, and the world of pain and anger in her eyes made Ed flinch. "I saw you," she said, her voice shaking. "Last night, in the shop. I saw you kissing Darius." 

_'Ah.'_ Ed closed his eyes. 

" _Why_?" Winry demanded, her voice cracking, and Ed couldn't look at her. "Why him? Why not _me_? It was supposed to be _me_!"

Childhood promises were a pain in the arse, and he _really_ should have cleared this up with her and Al a year ago, but he'd chosen the coward's way out. And now he'd hurt her. "I'm sorry," he offered. Took a deep breath, opened his eyes and met her teary expression. "It was never my intention to hurt you." 

" _Stupid_!" Winry shouted, and where she'd pulled the spanner from that she was pointing at him, Ed couldn't even _begin_ to guess, but between that and the threat of tears in her eyes, when she ordered again, "Lay back!" he listened, stretching his legs out straight so she could work. 

Disconnecting from his automail didn't bring any pain, but there was a definite sense of loss when the remains of his nerves no longer had anything to fire at, and Ed set his jaw against it. The temporary didn't connect to anything, just locked into his port and gave him something to balance on, which was both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, no added pain of connecting nerves, on the other, his mobility had just tanked. (And all he could do was hope those pro-Bradley fuckers didn't try any pot-shots, because he was only a little better than a sitting duck like this.) 

Winry stood, clutching his leg to her chest. "Don't follow me," she ordered before hurrying from the room. 

Ed sighed and rubbed at his face. "Damn. Damn, fuck, shit, _fuck_."

_'Well, Big Brother,'_ he could practically hear Al saying, _'you screwed that one up.'_

"Thanks for that, Alphonse," Ed muttered as he sat up and started going through the process of getting up when one leg was a deadweight. The process was so much easier when he had someone to lean on, but he grit his teeth and set to it; he deserved the snub, and it wasn't like he was a _complete_ invalid. He knew how to manage a temporary. 

He ended up in the kitchen, washing the breakfast dishes, because it was between that and reading old intel. 

"She's mad," Garfiel said as he came in, waving a hand in front of his face. "Seriously mad. What did you do?" 

"Something stupid," Ed snapped, because he really didn't want to get into how he'd fucked this one up. He should have told them. And Al deserved to be told in person, but Ed had no idea when he was going to get back to Amestris, and if Winry was in contact with him at all, there was a good chance he was going to hear it from her. Which, well, Ed would probably deserve Al refusing to speak with him, on top of Winry, but at least he could lessen the damage a bit by telling his brother himself? (Yeah, and the sky was green.) 

At least Winry was too hurt and angry to be demanding details? That was a silver lining, right? (No. No, that was not a silver lining. Ugh. Ed hated silences with the people he cared about.) 

"Did you apologise yet?" Garfiel asked, because he clearly knew Ed way too fucking well. 

Ed sighed and nodded. 

Garfiel whistled. 

" _Don't_ ," Ed ordered before the man could ask after his misdeed again. He pulled the plug in the sink and shook his hands before grabbing the tea towel he'd set out within easy reach. "Is there anything to read here?" 

"Books about automail and anatomy," Garfiel offered after a moment. 

Ed sighed, debating between his options; none of the reading material to hand was really his thing, but if Winry caught him trying anything more strenuous than walking around the house and shop with the temporary, she might actually implode. So... "Anatomy," he decided, since at least that might prove useful, should he ever get impaled with a steel beam again. 

Garfiel showed him to the shelf of books in the living room and pointed him to the chair that was the easiest to get out of, then left to go buy things around town. (Ed suspected the man just didn't want to be within the blast radius when Winry finally exploded. Truthfully, neither did Ed, but it wasn't like he had much choice.) 

The first anatomy book he grabbed was way too dry to do anything more constructive than put him to sleep, so he switched it to one that looked a little more worn and found himself with a far easier read. Which wasn't to say it was by any means simple – it had been _years_ since he'd actively studied anything to do with the mechanics of the human body – but it was sufficiently engaging that he managed to lose himself in it and didn't notice Winry until she spoke. 

"Drink this," Winry ordered, before a glass clicked against the wooden table next to Ed. 

Ed glanced over, his mind still half on the text, but it helpfully pulled itself into the real world when he recognised what was sitting so innocently next to him, and he shifted away from the milk. "No." 

Winry's stare was icy when he looked up at her, and he felt his disgust warring with his oft-ignored sense of imminent danger. "Drink it, Edward," she ordered again. 

"I'm not drinking that– that–"

Winry picked up the glass and waved it in his face, and Ed couldn't muster up the necessary fucks to be ashamed at the way he flinched back. "This is your punishment for being an idiot." 

"That's hardly equiv–"

"You'll drink this," Winry interrupted, as she slammed the glass back down on the table, white sloshing disgustingly over the sides, "or you'll still be sitting here, staring at it, when Al gets back from Xing." 

She didn't need to finish that threat; as soon as Al figured out what was going on, he'd hold Ed down so Winry could force the milk down his throat. 

Ed swallowed and gave in to the inevitable, pinching his nose shut with one hand before sitting forward to chug it like the absolute worst of the bottom-of-the-barrel beer he'd allowed himself to be talked into trying. 

As soon as the glass was empty, he dropped it back onto the table, then slumped in his chair, feeling vaguely nauseous. "I think I hate you a bit," he complained. 

"Then we're even," Winry informed him as she snatched up the glass and stalked from the room, her ponytail swinging angrily. 

Ed covered his face with his hands and moaned into them. He was going to need a drink, at this rate. Or a spanner to the head. 

He didn't realise she'd come back until the book vanished from his lap. As he dropped his hands to look up, she straddled his extended legs, her expression challenging. 

Ed stiffened. "Winry," he warned as his abused stomach churned. 

Winry crossed her arms under her breasts, staring at Ed, and when he couldn't help but watch them move, she declared, "You're not gay." 

"Dammit, Winry. Get off of me." 

"No." She unfolded her arms and Ed had about half a second to feel relieved before she was leaning forward, bracing her weight on the arms of the chair, which eased some of the strain on his good leg and the connections of the temporary one. "You owe me an explanation." 

"I owe you fuck-shit," Ed retorted. 

Winry pinned him with an unimpressed look. 

Ed slumped back in the chair, which had the added bonus of putting a little bit of space between them. "I'm not gay," he agreed grudgingly, "not that it really matters. I just...prefer sex with men." 

Winry's mouth tightened. "I'm sure you've had a great deal of practise with–"

"It's not like I have a bedpost to notch for you," Ed snapped, and couldn't help but feel a bit vindicated when she flinched back at that, which quickly morphed into anger at being cornered. "Do you want numbers? Details? Get _off_ me, Winry!" 

She scrambled off of him and tripped over the ottoman his feet were resting on. 

The temporary slowed him down, but he managed to catch her hand and pull her back against himself, rather than letting her crack her head on the low table behind her, and her knees took the brunt of the impact, making her grunt quietly in pain. They both took a moment to catch their breaths, Ed wincing at the angle his leg was in – the temporary was pulling at the port – while Winry clutched at his shirts, her face pressed against his chest. 

"You're so fucking clumsy," Ed complained when he couldn't stand the discomfort of his abused port any more. 

Winry smacked his side with one hand as she drew back, rubbing at her eyes with the other hand, and Ed bit back at groan at the proof that she'd been crying. _Again_. (He was gonna make a new record, at this rate.) 

With her out of the way, he was able to lean over and move the deadweight of the temporary, settling it straight again, then leant back in the chair and eyed her, feeling more tired than angry, after the scare. "What do you want from me, Win?" he asked, and his voice came out tired. "You're my best friend, practically my sister; I love you, but not–" He shook his head. "I don't want to sleep with you. I wouldn't do that to you." 

Winry's brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

Ed sighed and looked towards the small window at the front of the house, only the bright blue of the sky visible from his position. "What would sleeping with each other get us?" he asked, couldn't quite bring himself to look at her. "Even if I was staying in Rush Valley, it would only be a one-off for me, and you'd expect more, wouldn't you?" 

Winry sighed and the ottoman shifted as she leant against it. "I couldn't ask you to do that to Darius, anyway," she admitted. 

Ed frowned and looked over at her. "Darius? What does he matter?" 

Winry blinked, looking as confused as Ed felt. "Are you not...with him?" 

"Sleeping with him?" Ed suggested and Winry's cheeks pinked as she nodded. "It's not like any of us are exclusive, Win." 

That clearly took her a moment, but then her eyes went wide and the colour of her cheeks deepened. "Darius _and_ Heinkel?" she breathed, something vaguely worrying about the tone of her voice. 

Ed pointed a finger at her. "Wherever your idiot brain just went, drag it back." 

" _Together_?" Winry asked, looking creepily hopeful. 

Ed covered his face, honestly terrified about what her brain was conjuring. "Whatever you're imagining, I promise it's not anything like the reality," he insisted. "Please–"

Winry grabbed his real knee and shook it. "Have you?" she demanded, her voice going up an octave. "Slept with both of them at the same time?" 

"I'm not discussing my sex life with you!" Ed insisted, pulling his knee out of her grasp. "Fucking shit, Win! Stop trying to imagine it! That's just _weird_."

Winry flapped a hand at him. "Shut up and leave me my fantasies." 

Ed squeezed his eyes closed and slumped a bit more in the chair. "I need a drink." 

Winry lightly smacked his leg. "There's milk in the fridge." 

"I hate you." 

Winry snorted and the ottoman creaked as she moved. Ed glanced up to find her standing, flicking her hair out of her face and looking down at him consideringly. "Why them?" she asked just before Ed gave in to the urge to snap at her. 

"I– Because they're there?" Ed suggested a bit helplessly, and Winry gave him a flat look. He sighed. "I don't know, Win. Because I trust them, and it's just... We all know it doesn't mean anything." 

"That's not what that kiss looked like," Winry informed him before turning to go back out to the shop. 

Ed levered himself out of the chair. "Winry," he called and she stopped, but didn't turn, "don't romanticise us." Because he knew her, had seen her secret stash of romance novels when he and Al had stopped through on the way to Central (and been brained by a spanner for snooping). "If one of them decided to settle down tomorrow, it wouldn't mean anything to me. I'd be happy for them, and then I'd go find someone else. What I have with them, it's just physical." 

Winry looked back at him, her mouth curving down at the sides as she searched his expression. "That's terrible," she said. "Romance is supposed to be–"

"That's what I'm telling you," Ed interrupted. "There _is_ no romance. It's just sex." 

"How can it be 'just sex'?" Winry demanded, turning to face him fully. 

Ed rolled his eyes, because _seriously_? "You see, Win, when two people are equally horny–"

"Oh my god, shut _up_!" Winry shouted, covering her ears. 

Ed shrugged. "You asked." 

Winry groaned and turned away again. "I don't know why I expected an _alchemist_ to have any sense of romance, anyway," she muttered, before leaving. 

"Well," Ed said into the empty room once the door had fallen closed after her, "that could have gone worse." 

Probably. 

-0-

When Ed's stomach dragged him from his book, informing him it was well past lunch time, he sighed, then went and poked his head out into the workshop. Winry was with some guy, chattering animatedly about some new automail design or another while she – Ed realised after a moment of watching – finished putting the cover plates of his arm back on. 

"Looks like your boyfriend wants you," the guy said with a grin, nodding in Ed's direction, and Ed rolled his eyes. 

"Not my boyfriend!" Winry sing-songed as she took the money the guy held out to her. "Thank you for your business!" 

The guy laughed in that really irritating way that said they knew something you didn't, and waved as he left. 

"Have you eaten?" Ed called as Winry turned to him, mostly to keep himself from bitching about people deciding they belonged together, or whatever shit went on in their heads, because he really didn't want to find out that was an open sore still. (After all, she'd apparently _been_ one of those people, until she'd caught Ed kissing Darius. Ugh.) 

Winry shrugged as she slipped the money into the locked cashbox under the table next to Ed. "Not really. Why?" 

"I was going to raid your kitchen." 

Winry snorted. "And you need my help to figure out how to use the cooker?" 

He sighed. "I figured I'd ask if you want anything." 

Winry shot him an assessing look. "I think I like you when you're apologising for being a thoughtless jerk," she decided, shoving his shoulder lightly. "You can make me a sandwich." 

"I'm not _apologi_ –"

"Don't lie. That's what got you into this mess." 

"Technically–"

"Shut up, Ed." 

Ed shut up. 

Once in the kitchen, she directed him to what she wanted on her sandwich, settling down to eat it while Ed made up his own lunch. As he was putting the last of the materials away, she asked, "Have you told Al?" 

"What, that I'm fucking my team?" 

Winry was silent for a worryingly long moment, and when Ed looked over at her, he found her looking a little too bright-eyed. "Wait," she said, "are you actually the one–"

"Would you _stop_?!" Ed complained before taking a large bite of his sandwich. Around it, not even pretending to care that he was being rude, he said, " _No_ , I haven't told Al about my sexual preferences. It never came up." 

"Some things, Edward, you have to bring up yourself," Winry informed him a bit primly. "Or you end up in situations like this one, where you have to drink milk." 

"Shut the fuck up," Ed complained into his sandwich, his stomach giving a twinge at the reminder of the earlier horror. "Some things you don't just bring up in polite conversation." 

"You do polite conversation?" 

Ed sighed and shuffled over to drop into one of the chairs at the table. "Some things you just don't bring up," he amended. "I've only told a handful of people, Win, and you're the only one who knows I'm sleeping with my team." 

She folded her fingers together against the table top, something like understanding sparking in her eyes. "You're their commanding officer, aren't you?" she realised. "If anyone finds out–"

Ed shrugged. "It's not like anyone expects me to actually give a fuck about the military's fraternisation regulations, but, yeah, I'd rather not get into that particular shit storm. Ever." 

Winry leant forward, her brow furrowing. "So, why take the chance at all?" 

Ed rolled his eyes. "I would like you to envision the fallout if someone realises how much money they'll get for telling a reporter that the Fullmetal Alchemist is paying for sex." Then he took another bite of his sandwich. 

Watching the play of emotions on Winry's face _almost_ made up for the milk incident; she went from thoughtful, to amused, to horrified, to trapped somewhere between the last two in rapid succession, then clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes sparkling. "Well," she said with an uneasy sort of laugh, "I guess that would be one way for those terrorists to discredit you?" 

Ed snorted. "Might even get them somewhere. Right up until some dipshit decides all I need is to settle down with some nice girl–"

"Or guy," Winry insisted, clearly warming to the idea. 

"Don't go giving them ideas. Please. It's bad enough Mustang's trying to set me up with some imaginary lover, I don't need real offers." 

Winry perked up at that. "Oh, you can't just leave that without an explanation, come _on_."

Ed groaned and slumped against the table. Damn him for letting that one out. "Mustang and old man Grumman wanted to meet, all three of us, away from whatever fucker's leaking military intelligence–"

"Wait." Winry's expression had darkened, taken on a more worried look. "Forget the imaginary lover. There's someone–"

"There's always someone leaking information," Ed pointed out drily, "otherwise, we wouldn't have near so many rag newspapers. But, yeah, the Bradley terrorists have someone in the military. High up, too, we think, but Grumman hasn't been able to pin them yet. Which means assuming phone lines are tapped and the post is being gone through." 

"And you can't have meetings at headquarters," Winry added, definitely worried now. "Are you okay doing this, then?" 

Ed shrugged. "I have other ways of getting in contact with Grumman and Mustang in case I absolutely need to, and I'm careful about what I put in my reports. We're managing. It's a pain in the arse, but nothing's gone completely to shit." 

"Yet," Winry cautioned. "Remember what I said about you getting cocky, Ed." 

Ed finished off the last bite of his sandwich, then quietly admitted, "I have more than myself to keep safe out there, Win. I'm not going to take stupid risks that's going to get one of them hurt, not if I have a choice." 

"Just sex, Ed?" Winry pressed. 

Ed sighed. "They're my friends, Winry. I feel the same way about my academy squad." Then he slumped slightly. "What's left of them." 

"Guilt complex." 

"Shut up." He shot her a glare that felt weak. "Why the fuck'd you have to go and teach that bullshit to Darius for, anyway? Now I'm never gonna hear the end of it." 

"Good," Winry declared. "Maybe if he reminds you often enough, you'll stop blaming yourself for other's actions." She leant back in her chair, putting on a regal expression. "Now, explain the imaginary lover bit." 

Ed very pointedly dropped his face to the table and took a moment to stare at the wood grains before he turned his head until he could see her shoulder past his bangs. "Mustang's code for meeting privately with old man Grumman was a double date. Mustang suggested I keep to that cover for the next time I'm in Central and Grumman and I need to meet." 

Winry shot him a knowing smile. "Did you tell him where to shove it?" 

Ed snorted and sat up. "I corrected his assumption that I'd date a woman," he offered, and Winry rolled her eyes. "But, yeah, we settled on alchemy lessons, rather than a standing date, because I can't put someone else in that much danger, imaginary or not. And _don't_ say it." 

'Guilt. Complex,' Winry mouthed. 

"I'm going back to that book," Ed threatened, and when her only response was to laugh, he did so. 

-0-

Dinner was far friendlier than breakfast had been, and Ed found himself telling the two automail mechanics about all the people he'd befriended at the academy. He'd told Winry about a few of them – hard not to, when he'd called her from there a few times – and she'd clearly passed some of that on to Garfiel, but there was plenty he hadn't wanted to trust to a public phone call or just hadn't thought to bring up. 

He went to bed feeling far more cheerful than he had the night before, and was somehow completely unsurprised to awaken only a couple of hours later from dreams tasting of blood, a scream still ringing in his ears, and the agony of certain loss collapsing his lungs. 

_'Water, 35 litres; carbon, 20 kilograms; ammonia, four litres,'_ Ed started listing, forced his mind to turn away from the nightmare and focus on one of the few absolute truths of his life. 

Slowly, his body eased back into a more normal rhythm, and Ed curled tight around his real knee, feeling nauseous and off-centre. "It was the milk," he whispered, winced at the shredded quality of his voice. 

Wrapping his blanket around himself like some sort of messed up robe, Ed shuffled carefully through the house and stepped out the little-used side door, stopping as soon as he'd closed the door behind himself to just stand on the stoop and breathe, letting the familiar smells of steel and oil surround him and push away the reminder of blood. It was a balm on his nerves, and he tilted his head back to stare up at the stars. 

For just a moment, he could almost see himself living here – or another town like Rush Valley – owning a house and having the option to step out in the middle of the night and just stare at the stars. No having to worry about the military and their shadow games, or terrorists using him as a scapegoat. Just a small town alchemist with a fake leg and only the reminders of nightmares to whisper in his ear each night. And someone to share a bed with, some faceless man who he wasn't afraid to show how broken he was, to wake up next to in the middle of the night and trust they would know how to handle his nightmares. 

He closed his eyes and let his head droop forward, a helpless smile turning his mouth. "No," he whispered. "I'd be miserable inside a week." 

The partner, though... 

He scoffed. "She's putting crazy shit in my head. Romance: who needs it?" 

The door creaked open behind him. "Ed?" Winry asked, sounding exhausted. 

He glanced back, over his shoulder, and offered her an apologetic smile. "Didn't mean to wake you. I just needed some air." 

She gave him a slow blink. "At two in the morning?" 

Was that the time? Ed shrugged and looked back up at the stars. "Go back to sleep," he suggested. 

She didn't respond for a long moment, but then the door clicked closed and he felt her moving to stand next to him, dropping her head to rest against his shoulder. "Up, now," she mumbled before yawning. 

Ed glanced over and found her wearing the same skimpy nightgown she'd had since before he'd joined the military, and he sighed before unwrapping his blanket from himself. "You're a pain in the arse," he complained as he draped it around her instead, because he could get away with boxers and his black vest, even with the temporary leg, but he was damned if he was going to chance her showing off a bit too much because she was sleepy and careless. 

Winry hugged the blanket around herself and leant a little more heavily against him with a quiet noise of gratitude, her eyes sliding closed. 

Ed rolled his eyes and braced himself against her weight as he wrapped an arm around her, in case she fell back asleep on him. "Win, seriously." 

"Shut up," she mumbled. "I'm enjoying the night air with my best friend." 

That...was a lot more direct than they usually were, when it came to labelling their relationship, but Ed supposed he'd sort of started it, calling her his best friend first. And, well, he liked 'best friend', as far as labels went, even if it couldn't really define how much she meant to him. 

He looked back up at the stars and, since she was there, quietly admitted, "I was just thinking it might be nice, settling down somewhere. Be able to walk out my door and just stare at the stars in peace. Not worry about the military or terrorists." 

Winry let out an indelicate snort. "You'd hate it." 

He smiled at the sky. "Yeah, I would." 

She nudged him with her elbow. "You can always stop by here or Resembool, stand on our stoops in the dead of the night," she pointed out a bit drily, sounding like she was finally starting to wake up a bit. 

Ed snorted and glanced down at her. "Suppose I could. Maybe I will, once this shit's blown over." 

"Liar." 

"Probably," he admitted, turning back to the stars. Thinking of places he could come back to and stand on the stoop reminded him of another place that was turning into somewhere he could almost see himself calling home. "Gracia gave me a key to her flat," he heard himself say, felt vaguely surprised at it. 

"Huh." Winry was quiet for a long moment, then she asked, "Did you want one for here?" 

Did he want another key? Was he looking to start a fucking _collection_?

Perhaps he was: a collection of places to come home to, of people that he'd give anything to keep safe. Hadn't he already decided that the Hugheses' key fit in nicely with his pocket watch and lighter? 

"If–" His voice cracked and he cleared his throat, couldn't bring himself to look down at her. "If Garfiel doesn't mind, I wouldn't...refuse one," he settled on a little lamely. Fuck. 

"Nah. You're family." She nudged him with her elbow. "I've got one for Granny's place, too. Made myself a copy because it was a real pain to get in the back door without." 

Ed nodded in understanding; having alchemy meant he'd been able to sneak in the back without any trouble, but she'd had to sneak out the one from under the front porch and bring it around back. And she had been supposed to be hidden. "I– Sure. If you don't–"

"Stop," Winry ordered, pulling away from him and lightly smacking his chest. "It's physically painful to listen to you trying to be polite." 

"I'm not trying–"

"Shut up." She grabbed his hand and tugged him back towards the house. "Come on. I'm up, might as well cut you copies now." 

"Okay," Ed agreed, and let himself be led back inside. 

-0-

Interrupted sleep meant that Ed wasn't at his best, and neither was Winry, he was certain, but they both played it off well enough, substituting minor sniping for any real conversation and helping keep each other awake while Winry did the last few adjustments to his leg. 

After she was done, they went back to Ed's borrowed room and, after some last minute eyeing – better to check all you could before you connected it, Ed knew, appreciated because reconnection _sucked_ – Winry asked, "You ready?" 

Ed squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth, then nodded. 

Without a word of warning, agony shot through the nerves of his leg, and he forced back the noises that climbed his throat reflexively. 

When the pain receded enough for him to actually think again, he found Winry going through the familiar post-attachment checks, and he could never stop being grateful for the professional distance she held during this part, because he didn't _want_ sympathy or coddling, something way too many people didn't understand. Even Al, sometimes, pushed a little too far when all Ed wanted was space to lick his wounds. 

"Looks good," Winry declared, before getting up and walking around the bed, then climbing in carefully next to him. "Wake me up before you do something stupid with it," she ordered as she closed her eyes. 

And then, by all appearances, went to sleep. 

"You realise you're weird," Ed told her. 

Winry didn't respond. 

Ed sighed and closed his own eyes, wincing as a particularly strong aftershock bit at his nerves. Well, he couldn't sleep, really, but he could at least rest his mind for a bit.

.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The research for this chapter was the sort that makes one proud to be a writer, because there's little that's more fulfilling than knowing you're probably making someone at the NSA _very nervous_.
> 
> As promised, I put together a guide for the OCs, which you can find on [Google Drive](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1_iMNEvJJ_wzotutKRK6-dDQ17JSDB5R25naArPpyYrQ/edit). Let me know if anyone has trouble viewing it and I'll throw a copy up on LiveJournal.  
> I will be going back and adding this link to the beginning of chapter 10. If there's somewhere else you'd like to see it, leave me a comment.

"Well," Winry said as Ed went through some basic stretches, checking for any kinks in his leg, "one good thing about Al being in Xing is you can't immediately spar with him." 

Ed rolled his eyes and did a cartwheel. "That's not _good_ , Winry. Do you have any idea how hard it is finding someone to spar with?" 

"Nope," Winry admitted, entirely too cheerful about that. 

Ed did a backflip, let the reflexive grunt as he landed serve as his answer. "Fine," he said, as he straightened and knocked against his automail knee, "how about finding another automail mechanic to compare work against." 

Winry, silently, motioned around the busy streets. 

Ed rubbed at the bridge of his nose, wishing for patience. "In Resembool." 

"Your analogies need some work," Winry pointed out. 

"Oh, fuck off." 

Winry snorted. "Fine, so you'd beat most people into the ground in a friendly spar. Did you want sympathy?" 

Ed shot her a flat look. "If I can't go all out in a friendly spar, how do I know something's not going to go wrong out in the field?" 

Winry's face twisted, and Ed knew her sense of pride was warring with the knowledge that Ed led a dangerous life and needed to know in advance what might give him trouble. 

Ed sighed and dropped into the chair next to her. "To be fair," he admitted, "I can't go all out against Al any more, really. Some, sure, more than anyone else, but if I hit him with my leg, I'm going to hurt him. A lot." 

"Oh, well, I guess that's true," Winry agreed, frowning. "So, what, then?" 

"Kick a rock," Ed decided, then threw himself forward to dodge the spanner she swung at him, grabbing the button-up he'd left in the chair as he moved. 

"Edward Elric!" Winry shouted as he skipped back out of her reach. 

Ed grinned at her. "I'm gonna go get your money!" he called back before making his retreat. 

He felt a bit naked without his gloves or knife, but shrugging on the button-up was a comfort, and he had more than enough carbon between his shirts and the diamonds in his pockets to get by, should it come to it. 

And, fuck him, that explosion had shaken the sense of safety to Rush Valley. And he was going to have to leave Winry there, unprotected. 

_'Well,'_ he realised, spotting Paninya in the crowd, _'perhaps not entirely unprotected.'_ Because, even if Paninya couldn't keep a guard on Winry, she'd know best who he could trust to keep his best friend safe from any fuck-shits coming to prove their mettle. 

-0-

"Hey, Ed?" Winry called, knocking on his door as he was getting ready for bed. 

Ed left his vest – which he'd just about to remove – on and walked over to open the door, leaning against the wall just inside. "Yeah?" 

Winry looked vaguely uncertain. "Can I...come in?" 

Ed blinked. "Uh, sure." He stepped back, holding the door open for her. "What's up?" he asked as he shut the door behind her. 

Winry sighed and dropped onto his bed, looking tired from the long day. "Paninya stopped by," she offered, and Ed barely resisted a wince; he should have guessed she'd go straight to Winry. "Guards, Ed?" 

"It's not really _guards_ –" Ed tried. 

Winry just shot him an unimpressed look. 

Ed slumped back against the wall. "Okay, so I'm paranoid. You're the only person I really, seriously care about who's not either out of easy reach or already protected, or both. And that train, the date..." He shrugged and looked down at his mismatched legs. 

Winry sighed again. "I know," she admitted. "That's why I told Paninya it was okay." 

Ed jerked up his head to stare at her, more than a little disbelieving. "You–"

Winry huffed. "Not _everyone_ is as careless with their personal safety as you are, Ed. You pissed someone off again, and they're marking me as a target because it'll hurt you; we've done this before, I'm not stupid." 

Ed slowly sank down to the floor, balancing between the wall at his back and his automail leg, his real leg already given out under the rush of relief. "Oh," he heard himself say. She wasn't telling telling him to go fuck himself, or that he was blowing this completely out of proportion. She was letting him do what he could to keep her safe. 

"Ed?" Winry called, and he looked up into worried eyes. "You need to start calling me once a week, like you do for Elicia and Mrs Gracia, okay? Let me know you're okay?" 

The number of calls he'd have to make every time they stopped in a town was increasing by the day, it seemed, but Ed could hardly refuse her, not when weekly calls would do him good, too. "Deal," he agreed, holding out one fist. 

Winry's mouth quirked and she held out her own fist. There was no way they could reach, unless one of them got up, but it didn't need to be anything more than symbolic, anyway. "Next time," she added as they both dropped their fists, "just ask me." 

"I will attempt to remember that you're not an idiot about your personal safety," Ed promised drily. 

"Idiot," Winry retorted, her tone fond. Then she shot Ed a considering look, which immediately put him on guard. "Out of reach, that's Al, right?" 

Ed gave a cautious nod. "And Granny, too." 

Winry smiled faintly. "Right. And I'd guess the Hugheses are protected." 

Ed shrugged. "After a fashion," he agreed, because Winry was probably expecting they had military people watching them, but Ed had only ever seen a couple of women he'd seen at Madame Christmas, and a man he was about ninety-eight percent certain worked for the Armstrong family, when he thought to look. Which didn't mean that's all there were, but military sort tended to stand out in a crowd, so he was fairly certain that only one of the Armstrongs and Chris were involved in keeping the Hugheses safe. (Which, given their mole in the military, probably best to keep all mention of them in conjunction to Ed or Mustang firmly in the civilian world.) 

Winry nodded. "So, who's both?" 

Ed blinked. "Both?" he repeated, confused. Where had she–?

Oh. Almost against his will, he looked over at the collection of things from his pockets, where his lighter was sitting innocently next to his pocket watch and the keys; he'd included Mustang, hadn't he? 

Well, of _course_ he didn't want the bastard dead. What was the point of staying in the military if Mustang wasn't there to fucking fix everything? Ed'd have to do it himself, or train someone new, and he just didn't have the temperament for either. 

Winry leant over and picked up the lighter, and, judging by her flinch, Ed surprised both of them by jumping to his feet and taking a step towards her, hand outstretched. 

He stopped himself, pulling his traitorous hand back against his chest. "Sorry. I don't...know why I–"

"It's okay," Winry said quietly, setting the lighter back down where it had been. "I was sort of wondering about it last time, though. Al said Lieutenant Havoc gave it to you?" 

Ed couldn't stop himself from taking the last couple steps across the room and picking the lighter up, the pitted and scarred surface familiar, after months of falling asleep with it in easy reach. He swallowed and thumbed the lid open. "Yeah. Mustang, his gloves are useless when they get wet, so Havoc had to lend him this a few times." He let it snap closed again, the sound of metal hitting loud in the silence between them. "He was the only one who smoked, and I guess someone's gotta carry the damn thing, right?" He offered her a smile that felt wrong, somehow. Too flat, too twisted, too...false. 

Winry watched him like she was seeing him for the first time. "Two good men," she whispered. 

Ed let his smile go, frowned at her instead. "The fuck's that supposed to mean?" 

"Last year," Winry said, straightening, "when you first told me you were staying with the military. You argued with me because I said the military was full of jerks. You specified Mustang." 

Ed shrugged, feeling oddly uncomfortable. "I'd just talked to him." 

"You practically hated his guts, before the Promised Day," Winry said, more to herself than Ed. "And then you got back from hospital and you were... You'd talk to him in town every week. Marie said you'd buy him doughnuts." 

"That was equiv–" Ed started, trying to ignore the sensation of something heavy growing in his stomach. 

"And that lighter," she continued, either not hearing him or set to ignore him, her eyes turning to the space on the table that the lighter had been. She reached out to pick up his watch, the keys jingling from where he'd attached them to the chain – it had made more sense than leaving them loose in his pocket – and depressed the latch. "Oh," she said as it popped open, sounding surprised. "You stopped sealing it." 

"I have to use the damn thing to tell time sometimes," Ed groused. "And most people who have the bad manners to grab it and start snooping already know what it says." Including Darius and Heinkel, who had never asked about the meaning, though he'd caught Heinkel snooping through back-dated papers at one point. 

Winry snapped it closed, the keys jingling again, and rested her chin on the face of the watch, staring at him. 

" _What_?" he finally snarled. 

"It's just the lighter," she said. "I've got your watch and your keys and you don't care, but you freaked out when I picked up that lighter." 

"Wherever your brain is going–" Ed started as the heavy thing in his stomach turned over. 

"That lighter is a mess. It's not good for anything other than creating a spark," Winry continued, heedless. "It's practically useless without Brigadier General Mustang around. Hell, you'd probably have been better served just handing it over to him, since he's the one who'd need it, but you haven't. Like a good luck charm." 

"I don't need–"

"Or a lover's talisman," Winry added, narrowing her eyes. 

"...the fuck?" Ed somehow managed, despite the wave of numbness that had just swept over him. 

Against his will, his mind gave him all the times he'd wondered what sex with Mustang would be like, that one time one the couch he'd felt the urge to kiss the bastard, standing in that alley a few days ago and letting his hand rest over Mustang's chest like he had a fucking _right_ to touch. 

"Get out," he ordered, because he would not– He _could_ not–

"Ed–" Winry started, setting the watch back down. 

"Out!" 

Winry's jaw firmed, like she was biting back her own shout, and she nodded and stalked from the room, the door slamming against the frame behind her. 

Ed was left staring down at his lighter, scarred from its own trip through hell, but still up, still willing to fight when given over to the right hands, or the right cause. 

He wrapped his fingers around it and whispered, "Fuck," because he was seeing connections between himself and a _lighter_. It was clearly well-past time for bed. 

He set the lighter back down with his watch and keys, yanked off his vest, and turned off the light before climbing into bed. And then he turned his back on the little table with his collection, like he was denying everything they meant to him. Like he was as capable of leaving them behind as he had been of burning down his own childhood home. 

Ed was disgustingly good at lying to himself. 

-0-

Winry managed to hold her silence through breakfast and until Garfiel left the kitchen, but she caught the chain of his pocket watch when Ed made to leave himself. "Ed–"

"Leave it alone, Winry," he ordered, because he really didn't want to put any real consideration into what she'd been implying the night before, thanks. 

"No," Winry insisted, her free hand grabbing his wrist. "Sit. We're going to talk." 

"I'm not–"

"Running away?" Winry suggested, because she _knew_ him, knew how much he hated people who ran away from their problems. 

Ed let out a disgusted noise and dropped heavily into the open chair next to her. "I need to get my train ticket," he muttered, because it was expected. 

Winry rolled her eyes. "Says the idiot who could have made a career out of getting on the train at the last minute and using his pocket watch in lieu of a ticket." 

Ed was pretty sure there wasn't a good response to that. 

She sighed. "Something changed with the brigadier general. What?" 

Ed huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "I told you, I found out he's aiming to be Führer." Because he _had_ told her about that, while Al was still recovering. He hadn't told her everything Hawkeye had passed on in confidence, not like he had with Al, but she knew the important part: The bastard wanted to sit at the top to keep another Ishval from happening. "That's it." 

Winry shook her head. "So you're supporting him, I get that, but what's happened _recently_ , Ed?" 

What had happened recently? Mustang'd cared enough to push when Ed had been set to ignore the thing with Parnall, he'd stood firmly at Ed's side, had cared more about Ed and his squad's safety than how much trouble Ed was causing for him. He'd sparred with Ed when he'd needed an outlet for his stress, hadn't been insufferable when Ed had corrected some of his movements. And when Ed had been all-too-willing to throw his no killing morals out the window, the bastard had found a way to sit him down and talk it out. 

Ed had seen Mustang tired and smiling and protective. He'd seen him treated as a kid by his aunt, seen him bear Gracia's teasing with a fond smile, seen him hold Elicia with the same love Ed felt for the girl. He'd seen him on the edge of giving up, and his determination to keep on when given the necessary push. 

He'd started seeing the human behind the military uniform, and it was someone Ed could relate to, someone he could trust with things far more important to him than the future of a nation. 

"We became friends," he settled on, because that seemed the easiest way to explain months of getting to know each other without a desk standing between them. 

"Friends," Winry repeated, her expression disbelieving. 

He shrugged. "After a fashion. I still want to punch him in the face more often than not, because he's an insufferable bastard and he knows it." And just thinking about Mustang's smirky face made Ed want to punch something. "Ugh." 

"You know," Winry said carefully, "there's that one saying: 'It's a fine line between love and hate'." 

Ed scoffed, because he needed to, because he needed that distance. "Love," he repeated sarcastically. "Your attachment to the idea of romance is getting a bit out of hand, Win." 

Winry nodded. "So," she said, and her knowing tone had Ed stiffening, "if Brigadier General Mustang settled down with someone else tomorrow, you'd be okay with that?" 

He didn't want to think about that, didn't want to look too closely at the reason why the mental image of the bastard finally settling with some pretty woman made him want to punch something, so he pushed it away and let out a laugh that felt a little too sharp. "Mustang? Settle down? Not fucking likely." 

Winry leant forward, bracing her elbow against the table top and resting her chin on her palm. "I dunno," she said, her tone casual, but her gaze too focussed, "even you were talking about settling down the other night, right? After a year in Ishval, what's to say he's not lonely?" 

Ed scoffed again and stood. "Not kidding about that romance bullshit going to your head," he told her. "Maybe I'll pick you up another few automail books next time I'm in Central. Give you something a bit less crazy-inducing to read." He hurried past her. 

"Ed," Winry called before he could step fully out of the kitchen, "you didn't answer me. What _would_ you do if Mustang settled down?" 

"I'd congratulate him," Ed said, and the words tasted like blood and the zing of alchemy in his father's old workroom. "That's what friends do." 

"Ed–" Winry started, her chair scraping against the floor. 

"That's also," Ed added, "what subordinates do." Because Mustang would care about those stupid rules that Ed and his team thumbed their noses at. 

Never mind the fact that, no matter how Ed's body might betray him, the bastard was unquestionably straight, which Winry was wilfully ignoring in her quest for ever more romance. 

When she didn't speak again, Ed left for the train station to get tickets for that afternoon's train. Which was going to Fotset, and because he had been playing in the shadows for too long, he bought his ticket for the whole route; given the lack of intel on the Dublith group in the intelligence Grumman had handed over, Ed would bet the military mole was expecting them to go that way. The longer he kept them guessing, the more likely he'd be to catch the fuckers off guard. All he had to do was get off to stretch his legs in Dublith and 'miss' his train. 

Piece of cake. 

-0-

Winry was helping a guy with his automail leg when Ed got back, so he went inside and made sure all his things were packed, then joined Garfiel and another townie in sharing in some gossip, trading word from Central and up north for information about the south. 

Sometimes, he thought the military didn't pay enough attention to civilians; they were always how he heard whispers of new pro-Bradley groups. 

This time, though, he was more focussed on hearing about any new faces, other than himself – "You're hardly a _new_ face, Ed!" Garfiel had joked, and the other guy, Mark, had laughed in agreement – and got a couple physical descriptions. Mark also helpfully offered a description of a guy who'd been around town for a couple days before the train bombing, then had vanished the morning of, and Ed had suggested, should they see him again, they corner him for a 'friendly chat', which had won a mean smile from Mark and a grim nod from Garfiel. 

Winry didn't pester him again until it was time for him to leave. "I'll walk you to the station," she insisted, grabbing his suitcase before he could. 

Ed sighed and waved at Garfiel, pretending he didn't hear the man's stupid 'aww'ing, then followed after her. 

"It's just," she said after a good few steps, "I want you to be happy." 

"I _am_ happy," Ed insisted, because he was. Happier than he'd been in a long time. "Al's okay, you're alive, Elicia's adorable–"

Winry elbowed him. "Ugh. You're impossible." 

Ed clasped his hands behind his back and glanced up at the clear blue of the sky. "I'm good, Win. I accomplished what mattered the most to me. Anything else..." He shrugged. "What'll come will come." 

Winry snorted. "Bullshit." 

Ed flashed her a grin, received one in return. "Well, okay, there might be some dragging and kicking involved–"

Winry shoved him. "Idiot." 

They stopped together in front of the station without discussing it, watching the queue of passengers getting checked over by a couple of soldiers. Winry leant against his shoulder, just like on the stoop two nights before, and Ed absently wrapped one arm around her, letting out a quiet sigh. 

"Be careful out there," Winry pleaded quietly, one hand clenching in the back of Ed's jacket, almost directly over his knife. 

"I will," Ed promised. 

She twisted, and Ed glanced over to find her glaring at him. "I mean it, Edward." 

Ed rolled his eyes. "I don't hate Mustang so much that I'd make him come out here and tell you I'd kicked it, don't worry." 

"Your priorities worry me, sometimes," Winry decided, before setting down his suitcase for a proper hug. 

Ed wrapped his other arm around her and squeezed her as tight as he dared. "Please take care of yourself," he whispered. "Don't–"

"I know," Winry interrupted, and kissed his cheek before pulling away, pink dusting her cheeks. "Don't worry about me, I've got a whole town full of idiots with metal limbs who think I'm some sort of damsel in distress, now; I'll be fine." 

Ed snorted at that and ducked down to grab his suitcase. "Throw a couple spanners, that'll sort them out right quick." 

"Idiot." 

Ed grinned. "I'll be back, gearhead." 

Winry snorted. "Yeah, yeah. Grow another couple inches so I can bleed you for more cash, beansprout." 

"Fuck you!" Ed called back as he started for the dwindling queue, and her laughter trailed after him. 

"Cutting it a bit close there, son," the soldier on the right, a private, said as Ed reached them. 

"Suitcase," the man on the left, a lance corporal, ordered flatly. 

"A bit close?" Ed asked as he unlatched his suitcase and held it out for inspection; he could flash his pocket watch, sure – his uniform had been left in the car, since he was unlikely to need it, so the watch was the only overt military connection he had on him – but it was hard not to remember Darius' caution to keep as low a profile as he could, especially since he was taking a train from the same city where the last bomb had gone off. "I thought the train wasn't supposed to leave for another eight minutes." 

The private shrugged. "Sure, but there's been a bit of trouble with the switch outside Dublith, word is, so some of the operators cut their stops a bit short beforehand, to make up for the time they're expecting to lose, while others put on speed after the switch. Even odds what sort you're gonna get." 

Ed felt like someone had just dumped ice water over his head. "Oh," he said, and his voice was remarkably steady. "How long's that been going on?" 

"Few months," the private offered, shrugging again. "I dunno. Not something I really noticed before getting stuck on passenger-check duty." 

A few months? That meant the train that had been bombed likely should have still been in Rush Valley when it exploded. But with the unknown variable of whether they had an operator who left early or on time, the bombers would have had to pick a time in the middle somewhere and hope for the best. 

Winry _had_ been the target. _Dammit_.

"Shut up, Morris," the lance corporal ordered, and the private rolled his eyes at Ed, who managed a sympathetic smile in return, hoped he didn't look like he wanted to throw up. "You're clear," the lance corporal declared, closing the lid of Ed's suitcase. "Please step aboard and find a seat." 

"Thanks," Ed offered as he latched his suitcase back up, then stepped past them and onto the train. 

The cars were fairly empty – Ed couldn't even pretend to be surprised – and he dropped into a bench near the largest group of passengers he spotted, which consisted of two women and a man. They were in the middle of a debate about whether or not it was safe to travel by train when he sat down, and he quirked a smile that ached as he settled in to listen to them, hoping they'd eventually move on to something more relevant to his interest. 

The two soldiers who'd been checking passengers passed him a few times on their trip to Kadava, the stop between Rush Valley and Dublith, and the private looked more and more hangdog during each pass, while the lance corporal looked more and more irritated with his travelling companion. Which, well, served as much a source of distraction as the gossip behind him, which was winding down a bit, as one of the three had fallen asleep. (The man, he was fairly certain, from the pitch of the two remaining voices; he could have peeked over to check, but that would suggest he was interested in a conversation, which he really sort of wasn't.) 

Three people got on at Kadava, not counting – Ed happened to spot while staring out the window at the town – a couple stowaways in one of the back cars. He raised an eyebrow at that, then sighed and, grabbing his suitcase, started making his way back as the two soldiers finally let on the last man, whose face was deep red from the argument he'd been getting into with the lance corporal. Because those stowaways were going to get caught as soon as the soldiers did one of their checks, and then they'd been in some deep shit. If Ed couldn't talk them into getting off, at least he could cover for them, he guessed. (He'd done his fair share of train hopping, while he'd been on the run, and the only time they'd been spotted, the old man had smiled and covered for them when the ticker-checker came by; pay it forward, yeah?) 

The second-to-last car only had two passengers, neither of whom looked up as Ed passed them, but the final car was a fair beehive of activity, four teenagers and an older man all rushing around with–

Ed froze for a beat, recognising blocks of military-grade TNT, and that gave one of the teens the chance to spot him and shout a warning. 

He dropped his suitcase and lunged for the nearest kid, a move which probably saved his life, as the shot the man fired clipped his hair antenna. "Fucking _shit_ ," Ed snarled, shoving the kid he'd caught down against the floor of the car and ducking himself as the gun went off again. 

The train rattled to a start, and the gun went off a third time before–

Nothing. 

Ed chanced a glance up and found that the train car had emptied of everyone, save himself and his hostage, who was letting out desperate noises and wiggling. 

The door slammed open behind him, and Ed glanced back to find the lance corporal standing there, his gun out, face rapidly paling as he spotted the explosives stacked haphazardly in the middle of the car. 

"Lance Corporal," Ed called. 

The man's gun immediately focussed on Ed, his arms shaking, and he shouted, "You–!"

Ed carefully shifted his weight, let his automail leg take over the work of pinning the kid, then pulled out his pocket watch. 

The lance corporal's eyes widened and the hand holding his gun dropped, pointing it at the floor of the train. "Major!" 

Well, it was good to know that not everyone recognised the youngest State Alchemist on sight, he supposed. Resisting the urge to correct the man – he didn't really care, honest, and it's not like it really made a difference in who had command in this situation – Ed slipped his watch back away. "I need you to get all the passengers up to the front two cars, with as little panic as possible," he ordered, keeping his voice firm, because everything he'd seen about this man so far suggested he would respond best to a firm hand, rather than Ed's usual manner. "And I need you and the private to stay up there with them." 

The man glanced past Ed, towards the explosives. "Sir–"

" _Now_ , Lance Corporal," Ed insisted, grabbing one of his captive's wrists as the kid tried to scratch him. 

The lance corporal shot off a quick salute, then spun and hurried away, the connecting door falling shut behind him. 

Ed sighed, grateful for the military-trained unquestioning following of orders, then glanced down at his captive. "Well," he said, "I guess that means you and I are the only ones left to get blown to hell when this shit goes up." 

" _Good_ ," the kid said, his voice trembling. "At least our mi-mission will have be-en a suc-suc–"

"Success," Ed completed for him tiredly. "What the fuck'd I ever do to you fuck-shits, anyway?" he complained, before clapping his hands together and activating an array to wrap part of the floor around the kid, immobilising him as much as possible. "For that matter," he continued as he got to his feet, "the fuck's wrong with you, blowing up fucking _trains_? Stop involving other people in your petty shit and face me like men." 

"That's what we're doing!" the kid shouted, and he sounded so very much like he was trying to be strong. 

Ed shook his head and stepped forward to see what they'd left him with. The last gunshot had clearly been intended to start the fuse, and Ed quickly cut that with his knife before it got any closer to the pile of explosives. After checking around for any secondary lines and not finding any, he turned to the explosives themselves. 

Most of it was blocks of TNT, military seals still stamped onto their sides, and Ed wondered how the fuck they'd missed them being stolen, and where from. (Fucking mole.) TNT was relatively stable, on its own, so he was willing to leave it sit until they got in at Dublith, then leave it for that military outpost to sort out. The handful of sticks of dynamite, likewise, were unlikely to get set off during the normal course of the route, especially once he'd repurposed a bench and one of his own shirts to act as a cushioned holder and removed all the blasting caps. 

It was, upon further careful snooping in the pile – prompted by his captive's continued nerves, despite the cut detonator wires – the jars in the centre of the pile that made Ed the most nervous. The first two he'd uncovered had appeared to be nothing more than quickly-melting ice, but the third turned out to be a jar of pure nitroglycerin, miraculously still frozen, and Ed stumbled back from it, cursing. 

From where he was trapped against the floor, the kid started laughing in that way that idiots do when they know they're about to die. 

Ed squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at his face. He knew two different arrays that would work to keep the nitroglycerin frozen until they reached Dublith, but he had no idea about their facilities there, and leaving unstable explosives in the hands of amateurs was just asking for unnecessary deaths. But that meant _he_ had to fucking deal with it, and in a way that wouldn't lead to anyone dying. 

But, first, making sure it stayed frozen. 

He returned to the pile of explosives and carefully finished uncovering the deadly jars in the centre. As he'd expected, the nitroglycerin jar had been surrounded by jars of ice, so he clapped his hands together and recalled the stronger of the two chilling arrays he knew, then touched the jars. The air became noticeably colder, and the kid fell silent. 

"Yeah," Ed told him quietly, "neither of us is gonna be dying today." He stood again and looked past the haphazard stacks of TNT, unable to keep from adding, "Though, you'll probably end up in front of a firing squad, by the end of this." 

The kid was clearly terrified, but he still shouted, "It will be my pleasure to–"

"Oh, shut the fuck up, already," Ed interrupted, disgusted. "Seriously, you fuck-shits are all kinds of fucked up." 

"We are not the ones bowing at the throne of the pretend–"

Ed hopped over the TNT and transmuted the kid's shirt into a gag. "I said, shut up," he snapped, before stepping back over the explosives, glancing at the jars as he did so. 

Shit, seriously, what the fuck was he supposed to do with that crap? 

"Explosives," he muttered, walking over to a window and staring out at the passing countryside. "Why is it always fucking explosives? Ugh." 

The easiest way to get rid of the nitroglycerin was, of course, to detonate it, but he couldn't do that on the train, and he couldn't really do that easily while they were moving, never mind the difficulty in finding a safe place to set it off when he didn't know the area. Shooting it out the back of the train, maybe, and exploding it in the air behind them, but whatever survived of the glass jar could hurt any humans – or wildlife – that happened to be in the blast radius, which brought him back to knowing the area. Fuck, he always slept during this part. 

He blinked. No, wait, he _didn't_. There was a bridge about a half-hour before Dublith, which he always woke up as they were going over, because of the change in the sounds of the tracks or the strength of the wind or whatever excuse sounded the most likely at the time (Al's phrasing, not his). It went across one of the rivers that joined with Lake Kauroy, and always felt like it took an age to cross. And, because of the rapids you could see from the bridge, no matter the season, it was super unlikely to have any human visitors, or much in the way of wildlife, save fish, which should be safe from the worst of the shrapnel. 

He looked back at the collection of jars and grimaced. It was the best idea he had, so he'd best find a way to make it work. 

But, first, cleaning up the haphazard piles of explosives, because this was ridiculous, not to mention dangerous. 

It didn't take him long to clean the car up and rig together a sort of slingshot he could use to give the jar of nitroglycerin the necessary height to keep from damaging the tracks. (Hopefully.) 

He resettled his prisoner on one of the benches, stopping long enough to give the kid – who was a lot closer to Ed's age than he was really comfortable with, it looked like – some of the water in his suitcase, and ignoring the vitriol he started spewing almost as soon as the gag was off, then gagged him again, before walking over to pick up the phone that connected the cars in case of an emergency. He had no idea which car the soldiers were in, but he could at least ring up the engine and let them know there was going to be an explosion behind them and to just keep going. 

After promising at least four times that, yes, seriously, he knew what he was doing and the train wasn't going to be in any danger, just keep going at a steady fucking pace, he hung up and glanced out the nearest window. Which really did him fuck-all because, as mentioned, he usually slept through this part of the trip. 

He checked the number he'd need – the man up in the engine who'd answered had helpfully given him the number for the first two phones – and rang through to the second passenger car from the front. 

_"Lance Corporal Bedford,"_ the man said upon picking up. 

"Ah, excellent." How to introduce himself? "State Alchemist. Listen, fair warning, while we're going over the river, I'm going to blow something up behind us. The train's gonna be fine, so don't freak out." 

The lance corporal was quiet for a moment before cautiously asking, _"You're sure?"_

"Yes." Ed glanced out the window again, wished he actually knew where they were. "Try and keep everyone calm, but maybe best to tell them that this train's going to be detained for a while in the city. We'll see if we can't get another line out to Fotset without too much delay, but..." 

_"Yes, sir, I'll make sure that's passed on. And I'll warn the civilians about the fireworks."_

Ed grimaced – he'd never feel good about lying to civilians, but had to admit this was necessary to keep anyone from panicking – and nodded. "Good. Thanks, Lance Corporal." 

_"Sir,"_ the man replied before hanging up. 

Shortly after Ed replaced the handset, the sound of the wheels against the tracks changed under his feet, and he looked out to find them just starting to cross the river. 

His grin as he ran down the length of the car to his sling was probably a little too manic but, dammit, _blowing shit up_. Stress relief. A mark of victory over the fucking pro-Bradley group. 

Recalling the lance corporal's lie, Ed transmuted a few things to add to the nitroglycerin so colours would be involved, then quickly transmuted his carbon shield to protect himself from exploding glass, just in case. One of the blasting caps had been modified to work with the frozen nitroglycerin jar, to ensure it would actually go off high enough up, and Ed used his lighter to light the fuse – only needed a spark, really. 

Once everything was set, he hauled back on the sling, then shot the nitroglycerin up into the sky, stopping in the opened doorway to watch it explode into colourful shards of glass, which caught the light from the setting sun and the chemical reaction, making it almost look like an actual firework. It was...strangely pretty, given how deadly it would have been if he hadn't gone hunting a couple of stowaways, and Ed couldn't quite suppress a shiver at the knowledge of what might have been. 

He'd been lucky, just like Winry. Just like Sabine. Just like the people of Rush Valley and those on his own train. 

"I'm coming to you, now, fuckers," he whispered into the wind, clenching his carbon-covered hands into fists. "And I bet you a prison sentence that my anger and guilt are far greater weapons than your stolen explosives." 

They may have been the ones to start their little war, but Ed was going to be the one to bring it to an end, and he was going to do it in true Fullmetal Alchemist style: No more deaths. 

-0-

So, that thing about keeping his head down? Turned out it was kind of impossible, since he'd gone and set off an explosion half an hour outside the city (which was really more like ten minutes outside the city, when you counted by the outskirts, rather than the station). So their train was met at the station by a line of soldiers and way too many civilian gawkers, given the late hour, and Ed rubbed tiredly at his face as he peered out through a window at the mess awaiting him. 

Thankfully, it looked as though the lance corporal – Metford or Bedlord or something; Ed really needed to be better about remembering unfamiliar solders' names – had taken charge, because the private that had been with him was waving off the civilians from the train into the crowd of waiting soldiers, where they were paired up to collect statements – Ed would guess – and see about sending them on their way. The lance corporal himself had met up with a soldier who Ed recognised from when he'd been a kid, learning under Teacher – Loyd, was his name – and they started down the length of the train to Ed's car. 

When they got within range that none of them would have to shout, Ed stepped out into the doorway and saw Loyd's eyes widen in recognition before he stopped and shot off a salute. "Lieutenant Colonel Elric!" 

Next to him, the lance corporal looked like he'd just been told his dog had died. 

Ed snorted. "If I cared about rank, Lance Corporal, I'd have corrected you," he pointed out drily, which didn't seem to make the man feel any better, but Ed turned to Loyd anyway. "Major Loyd," he offered and the man's mouth twitched, his hand falling to his side. "Always a pleasure to see the soldier who once chased me with a carrot." Which would always be one of his favourite memories of tormenting the soldiers stationed in Dublith on the days when Teacher had been feeling too poorly to beat on him and Al. 

Loyd sighed. "Please don't remind me, sir." 

Ed flashed him his best shit-eating grin before forcing himself into a more serious mind set. "I've got one would-be bomber and a shit-ton of explosives. Everything's stable, so far as I can tell, but I'm no bomb expert." 

Loyd grimaced and nodded. "Bedford, borrow the station phone and ring down to the office. Have them send up transports for a prisoner and incendiaries." 

The lance corporal saluted, then spun and hurried off. 

"Bedford," Ed muttered in an attempt to keep from forgetting it again. 

"Sir–" Loyd started. 

"Ed, please, or Elric if you _must_ ," Ed requested. "All the 'sir'ing makes me want to try tunnelling into people's gardens again." 

Loyd snorted, relaxing slightly. "Good to see you're still an obnoxious shit." 

Ed grinned at him. "Funny, that was my CO's sentiment too, first time I saw him after I survived command training." 

Loyd shook his head. "Imagine that." Then he sighed. "Should I ask about the explosion over the river? Bedford said it was intentional?" 

Ed drooped back against the train car doorway and nodded. "Fuckers hid a jar of frozen nitroglycerin under all the TNT. Woulda gone up on its own, soon as it melted enough." By Loyd's expression and the way he'd paled, Ed guessed they both knew how that would have turned out. "Wasn't sure what sort of facilities you have here, so I detonated it en route. Safer all around." 

Loyd swallowed and nodded. "Thank you for that. And for giving a possible reason for the lab explosion last month; the scientists and alchemists working there swear it should have been fine, but if someone was stealing nitroglycerin and then covering it up..." 

"That's not the only thing they've been stealing," Ed said grimly, before stepping back into the car and motioning to the nearest pile of TNT, the military crests facing towards them. 

Loyd's expression, once he'd followed Ed, said he honestly had no idea how what he was looking at was possible, but then the confusion melted away to fury before his expression shuttered entirely. "It appears," he said, his voice gone icy, "I have a leak to plug." 

"It seems you do," Ed agreed, and hoped Wackett didn't turn out to be the leak; he'd drop his name into his next report to Grumman and let the bastard handle any fall-out. "Perhaps our new friend will have some ideas." He nodded towards his bound prisoner. 

Loyd looked down the car towards him, then back at Ed, raising one eyebrow. "A kid," he said flatly. 

Ed shrugged. "He may also only be able to spew anti-Führer Grumman doctrine and tell you I'm some sort of demon spawn, which, well, an argument can be made, so that's fair." 

Loyd looked rather like he was beginning to sympathise with Mustang for having to deal with Ed all the time. "Of course. And I don't suspect you'll be staying to assist with this?" 

Ed snorted. "I have a strict policy about not cleaning up my own messes." 

"I'm aware," Loyd deadpanned. 

Ed flashed him a quick grin, then eased his expression into something less troublesome-kid and offered, "If you'll lend me a phone, I'll ring through to the Führer, though, let him know what happened." He shrugged. "Get me out of a written report." Well, it wouldn't, but if he rang through and passed on the least sensitive parts verbally, no one would be questioning the fact that his written report never crossed Grumman's desk. Too, tapped lines or no, the sooner he reported this to Grumman, the sooner he could run whatever damage control was necessary from his end, and it wouldn't matter if it took Ed a week to get him his written report because he was too busy scoping out the group's hideout. 

Loyd snorted. "Fine. I usually just report incidents to Major General Browning, down in South City, but..." He trailed off, looking around at the piles of explosives. 

"This is a little bigger than South City," Ed suggested, shaking his head. "I'll leave it to you to inform Browning, then." 

Loyd nodded and looked towards the imprisoned kid again as the sounds of approaching military lorries reached them from out on the platform. "Since you're headed to the same place, can I have you handle transporting him?" 

Ed shrugged. "Sure." Then he walked over and quickly freed the kid, leaving his shirt as a gag, since he just wasn't interested in listening to him, and taking a bit of the bench with to trap his hands behind his back. 

"I'd almost forgotten who your teacher was," Loyd muttered, clapping his hands together, as Ed grabbed his suitcase, keeping one hand wrapped around the kid's arm tight enough to bruise. 

"To be fair, she never taught us that particular trick," Ed replied. "Al and I each learned it on our own. Walk, kid." 

The civilian crowd had been forced back by a military cordon, but they were still doing their damnedest to see what was going on, and Ed knew there was no way they'd be keeping the explosives a secret for long. He sighed quietly as he started for the transports, leaving it for Loyd to manage his people. 

"Ed!" a voice shouted as he reached the lorries, and he glanced towards the crowd to find Mason, Sig's shop assistant, waving at him. 

"Let him through, Private," he called to the soldier who was standing closest, and when the man shot him an uncertain look, Ed pinned him with his best commander stare. 

"Sir!" the private agreed, motioning Mason through. 

Ed resettled his grip on his prisoner as Mason stepped over, his expression caught somewhere between pleased to see him, and resigned. "It's never dull when you show up," he offered. 

Ed snorted. "Pretty sure it's a family curse," he replied, and Mason laughed. "Here, can you take my suitcase to the shop? Tell Teacher I'm going to have to crash in the guest room while this gets sorted." 

Mason nodded and took his suitcase when he held it out to him. "Sure. She's going to want an explanation, you know." 

"I know." 

A hush fell over the crowd, and Ed noticed a few nearby soldiers along the cordon stiffening. Next to him, Mason was staring towards the train, rapidly paling, and he knew they'd started offloading the explosives. "Is that–?"

"Please take my things to the shop, Mason," Ed requested, giving him a firm push. "Now." 

Mason swallowed and nodded. "Come up with a _good_ explanation," he suggested before turning and ducking back under the cordon. 

Ugh, Teacher was going to beat him senseless, he just knew it. "Come on," he ordered his prisoner, who was watching the staring crowd with eyes that gleamed. "Before they realise they can turn on you and I get hit with rotten projectiles." 

The sergeant standing by the lead vehicle – a car, rather than the transport lorries – saluted as Ed reached him. "Sir! I'm to drive you to base so the prisoner can be processed." 

"Thank you, Sergeant," Ed offered, and the man helpfully held open the back door for Ed and his captive, then jogged around to the driver's door and got in. 

The drive was quick and silent, and Ed was happy to hand his prisoner off to the sergeant and a grim-faced captain who met them at Dublith's military building. When he asked, he was directed to a phone he could use, and he wasted no time in ringing through to Central. 

_"Lieutenant Colonel,"_ Grumman greeted as the line was transferred over to him. _"I hope you're calling me with good news."_

"The second train bombing failed?" Ed offered a bit helplessly. 

Grumman was absolutely silent for a few beats, and Ed couldn't even _begin_ to guess at his expression, before he finally ordered, voice tense and lacking the suggestion of humour that Ed was used to hearing from him, any more, _"Report."_

Ed dropped tiredly into the chair of the desk whose phone he's been directed to. "I stopped in Rush Valley to visit my mechanic, sent my team on to South City to drop off Private Hamilcar. We're due to meet up in Fotset–" misinformation; hopefully, Grumman would catch on to the fact that Ed wouldn't drop his actual target city on a military line "–so I caught the next train down. Spotted what looked like a couple kids trying to play stowaway while we were stopped at Kadava and went to check. Found a few fuck-shits setting up explosives. One of them's in custody, but he's younger than me; probably won't know much of any real use. 

"The fucker who looked to be their leader started the fuse before he escaped. Easy fix, and their pile was mostly made up of military TNT, which I figured would survive travel to Dublith fine, but I found a jar of frozen nitroglycerin under the pile of TNT." 

_"Nitroglycerin?"_ Grumman interrupted, and Ed could _almost_ hear the man cursing in his head. 

"Yeah. I detonated it over the river, since I have no idea what sort of chemical-storing facilities they've got here, so it's handled. Major Loyd mentioned something about a lab explosion that might have been covering up its theft." 

_"Yes,"_ Grumman agreed, and Ed thought he sounded a little tired. _"I can't expect soldiers to know how to deal with unstable chemical compounds, and we don't have enough alchemists capable of such to sit every southern train."_

"Fuck," Ed muttered, seeing where this was going. 

_"I'm putting a hold order on all southern area trains, effective immediately. You'll have to find some other way to Fotset, or turn your attention to something closer to your current position,"_ Grumman informed him. 

"My target hasn't changed," Ed promised. 

_"Fine. **Handle this** , Lieutenant Colonel, before we end up with a riot."_

Ed clenched his jaw, resisted the urge to tell the bastard to go fuck himself – they were both feeling the stress of this situation, he knew, but Ed wasn't going to be the one dealing with the public fall-out – and bit out, "Yes, sir." 

_"I'll handle informing the stations in Fotset, Warrington, and South City to hold any trains until further notice, as well as here in Central. Inform Major Loyd that he's to hold any trains that miss the closing of lines, supply or passenger."_

Ed stiffened. "Supply?" he demanded, because Grumman couldn't mean to cut off the south area entirely. Sure, most of the farmland was down there, so it wasn't like they chanced starving without trains coming from Central, but those same farms, augmented by those in the west and east, supported the _whole_ country, and if they couldn't reopen supply lines before the end of the month, they chanced the northern mountain passes closing up before they could get the winter stock up to them. 

Fuck, rioting was right; no wonder Grumman was getting snappy. 

_"I'm not taking any chances,"_ the bastard said flatly. 

Ed wasn't going to take the whole month. "Two weeks," he said and hung up. More likely, they'd have this group rounded up within a week, with his team, especially if Teacher agreed to help, but there was a chance that they'd passed some of their stolen explosives on to splinter groups in the area, and Ed wanted to have time to hunt those down before they reopened the trains and ended up with another bombing. 

He sighed and gave himself a moment to rub at his face, feeling at once too young and too old. _Fuck_ , he was so tired of the weight of this shit on his shoulders. But, then, hadn't he been the one to keep on, to keep fighting when he could have retired? Hadn't it been his choice to bear this burden, to help Grumman carry it so Mustang could focus on Ishval in peace? 

Maybe Mustang was right; he _should_ consider a short holiday. 

He shook himself and went looking for Loyd; the sooner he passed on the orders, the sooner he could get to the meat shop and let Teacher yell at him. And borrow her phone to ring Winry, let her know he was safe, because she was going to start freaking out as soon as word reached her about the lines being shut down. 

And tomorrow he'd start running reconnaissance on these fuckers so they could finish this.

-0-

Teacher had been expectedly cross with him for bringing trouble to town and putting himself in danger, but then she'd hugged him tight, whispering that she was glad he was okay. 

And then she'd hit him again and demanded he tell her everything. Which, well, he hadn't told her _everything_ , but he'd given her the basics, and she'd been quick to agree to help in taking out the pro-Bradley group. She'd also sent Mason out to find someone who was driving out towards Fotset, and they created a dummy that should pass for a quick glance, help the fallacy that he was keeping on towards that way. 

Ed left her and Sig to sort out travel provisions and catching the chimeras once they got into town, while he borrowed the phone to ring Winry. 

"I'm okay," he told her as soon as she picked up. "I'm in Dublith and in one piece." 

_"...why does that make me nervous?"_ she replied, and she sounded more resigned than anything else. 

Ed swallowed and offered, "There was a bomb on the train." 

_"Oh my god,"_ Winry breathed, and the sound of something being set down heavily came down the line. _"Please tell me you weren't right in the middle of things."_

"I can lie?" 

Winry moaned, and Ed could distantly make out the sound of Garfiel's voice, though not his words. _"They tried to bomb Ed's train,"_ Winry explained and, while Garfiel made horrified noises in the background, demanded, _"How in the middle of things were you?"_

"Let's just say I was," Ed offered, and she moaned again. "It's fine. I had to set one of them off, but it was out of range of anything, so don't fucking freak out when you hear there was an explosion, okay?" 

_"See,"_ Winry said a bit helplessly, _"the only problem with threatening to tie you down, is I'm pretty sure the trouble would find **you**."_

Ed rolled his eyes. "Also, old man Grumman's stopping all trains in the south, because the kind of explosive they used–" He stopped, cleared his throat; she didn't need to know exactly how much danger he'd walked into. "Anyway, yeah, no trains for a while." 

_"Ed."_

"I'll fix it." 

_"Edward,"_ Winry tried again. 

"Heading out first thing in the morning," he continued, forcing a smile. "I'd probably be heading out tonight, but–"

_"Would you **shut up** for a minute?!"_ Winry shouted. 

Ed locked his jaw to resist the urge to keep talking, to not let her get a word in edgewise. 

_"Thank you. First, I'm glad you're not dead, idiot. Second, when you see your team, tell them, from me, that you're an idiot who needs a hug."_

"Win, that's–"

_"Shut up! Third! Tell your guilt complex to fuck off and get some sleep; if you get yourself killed because you were tired, I'm going to kick your arse. And, last, take care of yourself. Okay?"_

Ed swallowed and closed his eyes. "Okay," he promised. "I'll ring you in a week." 

_"You'd better, or I'll come hunt you down,"_ Winry threatened, and it sounded like she was trying not to cry. 

"No, you won't." 

_"I'll consider it very seriously."_

That, Ed was willing to believe. "I promise I'll call," he said, and meant it. And then, because he couldn't _not_ , he added, quietly, "Thank you." 

_"...I wasn't kidding about the hug,"_ Winry said after a moment. _"Tell them. I mean it."_

Ed sighed. "Yeah, fine." 

_"Idiot,"_ Winry grumbled. _"Go to bed. Worry about yourself, for once."_

Rather than trying to argue that point – Al had complained about his habit of putting other people first, too – Ed just replied, "Good night, Winry," and hung up. 

And, because she was right about the needing sleep to keep from screwing something up, he offered his good nights to Teacher and Sig, then turned in for the night.

.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential trigger-wise: there's (mostly, save for one slap and some rough handling) off-screen violence against a female OC in this chapter. I only had physical abuse in mind when I wrote the scene where Ed comes to find her, but it wouldn't be a stretch to assume sexual abuse, and I'm sorry if that makes anyone uncomfortable. I'd like to say I'll mark it and people can skip it, but it's kind of mixed in with the start of this chapter's climax, so... Ugh. Sorry? Just read with care when Heinkel gets Ed from their campsite, I guess.

Ed and Teacher spent the first day making their way carefully around the bottom edge of the lake, watching for signs of recent passage and marking out a safe path for Sig and the chimeras to use after them. They set up camp on the west side of the river that went south from the lake in the late afternoon, then forded the river and checked over the east bank and a way into the brush edging it, setting some traps so they could sleep relatively safely. 

Their next day was spent forging out east, still looking for signs of other humans being in the area, while also trying to find a campsite that was closer to the spot marked on Ed's map. 

They found a couple of possible campsites, but didn't have the time to check far beyond them before they had to head back, so they left that for the next day and returned to their previous campsite. 

Sig and the chimeras were there when they got in, cooking dinner in the smokeless stove Teacher had created the night before, and Teacher had immediately run to 'thank' Sig for being so thoughtful. "I think I'm going to hurl," Ed told his team as he reached them, and Darius snickered while Heinkel sighed and shook his head. "Hi. Anything interesting in South City?" 

"A serious lack of pretty-boys," Darius informed him. 

Heinkel sighed again while Ed covered a grin. "Nothing we didn't already know from the Führer. I expect we'll have more luck asking around the smaller towns, where his ears don't quite reach." 

Ed nodded in understanding; smaller towns and villages had always been where they'd found the best intel on the pro-Bradley sort. "I figured, but, since you were down there..." He shrugged. "I got some descriptions of possible members of this group while I was up in Rush Valley, and I saw a few of them." 

"Oh, right," Darius said, before reaching out and trying to smack Ed, which he dodged. "I thought I told you to keep your head _down_!" he hissed. 

"I _did_!" Ed hissed back. "But I was staying somewhere way too many people recognise me! That's like telling me to keep a low profile in fucking Resembool, okay? Not happening." 

"Darius," Heinkel interrupted before the part-gorilla could say anything else, and Darius let out an angry noise and turned away. Heinkel gave Ed a helpless look. "He's been fuming since we heard." 

"You think I _wanted_ to get almost blown up?" Ed demanded, only keeping his voice down because they didn't know where, exactly, this group was in relation to their camp. "I didn't want to be noticed coming into Dublith, you _idiot_. The idea was to let them think I'd kept on to Fotset so they'd let their guard down, but then they fucked that right up, and now Grumman's stopped the trains because we don't have the sort of personnel who can handle fucking _nitroglycerin_."

Darius stiffened, while Heinkel drew in a sharp breath. "They're using pure nitro?" Heinkel asked. 

Ed nodded. "Froze it, piled TNT around it, and left a fuse as a dummy." 

'I got lucky,' he didn't say. 

Instead, he said, "You see any freezers in there, don't fucking touch them, and if you see someone else reaching for one, shoot 'em. Clear?" 

"Yes, sir," they both said, Darius still not turning around. 

"Good. I'm hungry." Ed turned towards the stove. 

Before he could take more than a step towards where Teacher and Sig were dishing out the food, arms surrounded him from behind, pinning his arms far enough down that, had he reacted with violence, he'd have had trouble getting his hands together to transmute, or have the clearance to drawn his knife. 

As it was, he didn't really have any say in the way his body relaxed back into Darius' hold, his eyes sliding shut. "Dammit, Ed," Darius growled, his arms tightening, and a part of Ed wondered if, maybe, Winry hadn't been right about their relationship being more than just sex. Not her romance-love bullshit, no, but trust and security, because this was the first time he'd felt like he could relax since they'd parted ways in Rush Valley. Even with Winry, as much as he cared for and trusted her, his mere existence had been putting her in danger, and it had been his job to keep her safe. 

He grabbed for the underside of Darius' arms and curled forward around them, trusting the arsehole to take his weight. 

Someone stepped around in front of him, and a hand rested lightly on the top of his head; Heinkel. "Ed?" he asked quietly, concern obvious in his voice. 

Ed shook his head. "It's been a long week," he admitted, before letting out a laugh that sounded hollow. "Winry told me, actually, to tell you arseholes that I'm an idiot who needs a hug." 

Darius' arms almost seemed to tighten even further. "Like we couldn't see that for ourselves," he muttered. 

"Take as long as you need," Heinkel murmured, his hand brushing over the top of Ed's head, like he was petting him. 

There was a joke in that, something about felines and who should be petting whom, but Ed just...didn't have the energy to get into that spat right that moment. 

He gave himself until his stomach let out a growl of displeasure at being kept from food, then snorted and straightened, smacking Darius as the arsehole laughed at him. "Let me go, ape," he ordered, and received a particularly crushing hug before being released to wheeze. 

"Not an ape," Darius informed him. 

"You really should be more proud of your arse-scratching heritage," Ed shot back, flashing a grin over his shoulder. 

"Are you sure that's not baboons?" Heinkel asked. 

"Actually, I'm fairly sure arse-scratching is a general mammalian trait," Ed admitted, "but I'm going to have to remember baboon for some other time. Thanks." 

"Would you _stop helping him_?" Darius snarled at Heinkel. 

Heinkel shrugged and flatly stated, "I can't help it that your animal half's relatives are common insults." 

Ed laughed; he'd missed the arseholes. 

-0-

Day three was spent scouting around the possible campsites they'd found the evening before, which went a lot faster with five of them. While the chimeras and Sig moved camp to the most viable spot, Ed and Teacher kept going, finally finding signs of human passage about half a mile from their new campsite, and it was a little under another quarter-mile to the clearing that the building they'd been looking for was in. 

Without speaking, Ed and Teacher agreed to each go thirty paces around the outside of the clearing, sticking carefully to the trees, and get as much of an idea of the layout as they could, then meet back up and return to the campsite. 

The place was definitely in use, and a lot more active than any of the other headquarters Ed and his team had taken out; he was doubly glad he'd tapped Teacher instead of running off with a couple soldiers, this time. There were two adult males teaching a group of seven male teens how to shoot on the far side of the compound, while another two adult males showed another group of six teenage males the basics of hand-to-hand. There were another few adult males around, but he saw a distinct lack of women, which was fairly unusual, as the other two larger groups they'd taken out had at least ratio of about one woman to every three men; easier to go unnoticed when there were women, and women tended to be trusted faster than men. 

Of course, it was possible they had a scouting party out and their women were there, but as Ed finished out his paces and started back, he was left with the sense that this group didn't believe women to have any worth, or were too delicate or some bullshit for their cause. 

Idiots. 

They made it back to the new camp safely and quickly cleared a portion of ground to alchemise into a 3D map of the clearing, both of them adding the things they'd seen, and detaching the two vehicles Teacher had noticed – one a fairly nondescript, battered car, the other a military transport lorry – and any other commonly moved objects, so they could be moved around if their position on the compound changed. 

"There's a track about a quarter-mile out," Ed murmured to the chimeras and Sig once they'd joined the alchemists. "It looks fairly well-used, and from what we saw of it, probably curves around the compound." 

"Sentry path?" Heinkel guessed. 

Ed shrugged. "I would assume. I'd like it watched tonight, to find out for certain." 

Heinkel and Darius traded looks. "Understood," Heinkel agreed, and Ed knew they'd vanish as soon as dinner was done to find their own perch within sight or scent range of the track. He almost wished he could go with them, but he'd be more of a hindrance than a help in the dark. 

He turned back to the map, tapping the top of the building, which looked like it had once been a basic farmhouse, before they'd started building onto it, and now it was a three storey sprawl that looked more like something a small child would make with a bit of mud and some sticks than an actual dwelling. "We'll start up a proper watch tomorrow, after we know if they've got sentries watching that track; I'd rather not settle in for an extended watch, only to be surprised from behind." 

"How long are we watching for?" Darius asked. 

Ed stared down at the hodgepodge building. "I told old man Grumman two weeks, but I'd like to have this finished next Wednesday." That gave them a week of watching, plus an additional three or four days to hunt down any explosives that had been passed on to other groups in the area. 

"Yes, sir," the chimeras chorused grimly. 

Teacher picked up the lorry. "And if they start packing up explosives?" she asked. 

Aw, fuck, that hadn't even occurred to him. They could set up a road block, but only if they knew exactly where that road out of the compound went, found a good spot that was out of shouting range of the compound, but also well away from any nearby farmland or the nearest small town. 

He touched the road out of the compound. "Sig," he said, "tomorrow, follow this and find a good spot to ambush them if we need to, well away from any other homes or fields. Teacher or I can rig some traps the day after that." He sighed and shook his head. "If they start packing up before that, we'll just have to move on them here. I don't like it, but if those explosives go up here, at least we know it's contained." He glanced around at all of them. "Any debates?" 

The chimeras traded looks with each other, while Sig and Teacher traded looks themselves, before all four shook their heads. As she sat the lorry back into the faint wheel divots marking where it had started out, Teacher said, "Nope. We'll just have to hope they don't decide to be stupid. And start any attacks by walling off the lorry after they've filled it with their explosives." 

Ed...hadn't even thought of that. Though: "Actually, we should just generally plan to start any attack by walling off the vehicles, or we're going to end up having to chase them down when they realise they need to flee." 

Teacher's responding smile made it clear that had been her next suggestion. 

Ed rolled his eyes; and she'd once insisted she was no longer their teacher. 

-0-

The track they'd crossed was absolutely a sentry path, though it wasn't well manned, and most of the men who walked it didn't even pretend to look around. Still, they treated it like they were dealing with proper sentries and made an effort to never leave signs of passage on either side of the track. They kept one person watching the section of the track that was closest to their campsite, just in case, and three people spread out around the compound itself, while the last person had the chance to relax back at camp for four hours, before they all traded positions, giving them a chance to stretch their legs and wake back up, should it be necessary. 

Every morning and evening, they'd leave one person watching the compound – cycling who it was – and the other five would gather around at their camp and make note of any changes on the map, as well as in the little notebook set off to one side, and whoever had been on watch would look the changes over during their break shift. 

It turned out there were three women in the compound, and they – grudgingly, from what Ed and his group saw – managed the cooking and laundry. The youngest, who looked to be Ed's age or a little older, would often stop and stare towards the boys practising fighting, and it wasn't until Ed caught her practising some of the punches against a tree in the forest, within spitting distance of his post, on their third day of watching, that he realised that she wasn't watching one of the boys because of a crush, but wanted to learn to fight like them. 

He sat in his tree and watched her for five or so minutes, debating what to do, before sighing, calling himself seven kinds of idiot in his head, and jumping down from his watch perch. 

She startled and turned, her hands dropping to her sides and shoulders hunching like she expected to get hit. There was a fading bruise peeking out from under the collar of her ragged dress, and her lip had been split fairly recently, which explained the reaction, even as it left Ed wanting to find someone to hit. 

"That's no good," he said, forcing his voice light, and her head came up, eyes widening, as he gently caught her wrists and brought her arms up in front of her in a guard position, protecting her face. "See," he commented, "this way, no one's gonna re-split your lip." 

"Who are you?" she asked, lowering her arms slightly so she could look over them at him. "I don't recognise you." 

Ed shrugged. "I'm your new fighting instructor," he decided, and he was going to get beat around the head _so bad_ for this, from both Teacher and Darius, but he couldn't just sit back and watch her beat her knuckles bloody, not after that reaction. 

She scoffed. "Girls can't fight," she insisted, sounding like she was repeating a mantra. 

Ed raised an eyebrow at her. "The person who taught me to fight is a woman, and my brother and I are still fucking terrified of making her angry." 

She shook her head. "You must not be very good, then." 

Ed quirked a smile at her. "I get by. Do you want some pointers?" 

She considered that for a moment, then nodded. "Okay." 

Ed showed her how to stand so she was better balanced, then took her through a few moves. Mostly defensive, because it looked like she would be better served learning how to avoid a hit than actually throw one, but he taught her a couple of punches and gave her some pointers about where best to aim on a male. 

" _Everyone_ knows that," she'd informed him drily. 

"And yet," he'd returned in the same tone, "I somehow retain my masculine dignity." 

She'd giggled in response, but had seemed extremely interested when Ed gave her the rest of his pointers about dealing with opponents who underestimated you or, in his case more than hers, as she had a good few inches on him, were bigger than you. 

"Gloria!" one of the other women from the compound shouted. 

The young woman he'd been training flinched and turned to look. "Oh no," she whispered, shooting Ed a wide-eyed panicked look. "I need to go." 

Ed shrugged and relaxed out of the ready stance he'd been holding. "Okay." 

She worried her lip, reopening the wound, then asked, "Can I come back tomorrow?" 

Ed sighed. "I won't be the one here tomorrow," he admitted. 

"Gloria!" the woman in the compound called again. 

The woman next to him blinked, then her eyes narrowed. "Are you watching us?" 

Ed considered her. "If I say yes, what will you do? Tell your faction commander there's a blond boy in the forest?" He smiled at her, showing teeth. 

She scoffed. "You think he'd listen to _me_? I'm just a _girl_. What do I know?" 

"A fuckin' hell of a lot," Ed guessed, easing his smile into something less threatening, since she hadn't immediately run off. "Anyone who underestimates the resourcefulness of women is a fucking moron, and fully deserves the knife in the back that's waiting for them." 

She stared at him like she'd just found something mythical. 

" _Gloria_!" the woman from the compound called again, starting to sound cross. "Where are you, you brainless child?" 

"I–I need to go," she said, stumbling back a step. "It was, uhm, thanks. Thank you." Then she turned and ran back towards the compound. 

"I'm gonna end up being the one with bruises tomorrow," Ed muttered as he climbed his tree again, reaching his previous perch just as his pupil – Gloria, and wasn't that the name of his pretend alchemy student? The world was laughing at him – cleared the trees. The woman who had been waiting for her smacked her hard enough that Ed heard the connection and winced, then grabbed her by the ear and dragged her back into the house. 

When Ed joined the others for dinner that night, he steeled himself, then passed on the meeting. Darius was the one on evening watch, but Teacher kicked his arse enough for both of them, and Heinkel's disapproving stare made him feel like even more of an idiot. 

The only concession he got was Teacher grumbling, "At least you _told_ us, instead of trying to hide it." 

"We'll have to move that sentry spot," Heinkel announced, and Ed sighed and joined the debate about another tree in the same general vicinity with an equally good watch spot. 

He suspected that would be the last he saw of Gloria until they attacked the compound, whereupon it would be up to her how she reacted to their intrusion. 

-0-

Two nights after his meeting with Gloria, as Ed was finishing the last of his dinner and reading up on the notes the others had added while he'd been stuck on the watch, he heard Heinkel let out that odd little croak that sounded like 'Jerso', which had turned into their warning call for when they were separated fairly early on. 

Since it was nowhere near time for a shift change, the only reason Heinkel would be approaching was for an emergency, and Ed immediately grabbed up his knife from where he'd set it next to him and the small hand lantern he'd been reading by, and hurried to his feet, then started out of the camp in the direction of the call, absently jumping over the alchemical traps he and Teacher had set up the first night and left after showing the others how to avoid them. 

"Your pupil showed back up," Heinkel murmured as he fell in next to Ed, having a far easier time finding him in the dark woods than the other way around. 

Ed shot him a quick glance. "And?" he whispered, because it wasn't the first time in the past two days that she'd been reported out in the woods, possibly trying to find Ed again. 

The light of the lantern cast angry shadows across Heinkel's face, hiding much of his expression, but Ed could detect disgust in his voice when he murmured, "You'll see." 

Well, that was promising. 

They were just coming within range of the sentry track and the point where Ed would need to shutter his lantern for safety, when Heinkel pulled him north, parallel to the track. He stopped after another few feet and murmured to Ed, "Straight ahead. I'll keep watch." 

Ed nodded. "Cover her tracks?" he requested. 

Heinkel gave a brief nod of acknowledgement, then vanished into the dark trees. 

Ed sighed before starting forward again, stepping carefully through the unfamiliar portion of woods. He heard her before he saw her, heaving great, gasping sobs, and the why became readily apparent when he did catch sight of her: She was kneeling on the ground, crouched over and hugging herself, her hair in a complete disarray and her already ragged dress torn in at least two places, showing patches of (thankfully unbroken) skin. 

He...didn't have any experience with this sort of situation. He was uncomfortable enough with Winry crying, and he'd known her his whole life, never mind some woman he'd only met once, but that was more contact than anyone else in his group had with her, and she looked rather like she could use someone who cared. 

"Gloria?" he called quietly. 

She stiffened, her sobs almost immediately stifled. "W-who–?" she stammered out, not looking up. 

Ed shrugged out of his button-up and slowly stepped up to her. "Your fighting instructor," he offered as he knelt and set the lantern down, then draped his shirt over her shoulders. 

She let out a broken-sounding laugh at that. "Fighting instructor," she repeated, before looking over at him, revealing a bloody nose, some red patches around one eye that were just starting to swell (which would almost certainly turn into a particularly impressive shiner, if Ed was any judge), and a new split in her lip. "I should have kept my head down!" 

Guilt churned in Ed's stomach, and it was an honest struggle to force it down. "So why didn't you?" he asked instead, because nobody who punched their fists bloody against a tree during their free time did so without the intent to use those fists. 

"Because– Because I was tired of those stupid boys always getting whatever they wanted!" she replied, her voice rising. "Richard said he was going to ask for _me_ as his reward for killing whichever poor fool they're plotting against this time, and he grabbed me and I–"

"Punched him?" Ed guessed quietly, and she gave a miserable nod. "Good, he deserved it." 

She looked rather like she didn't know what to do with that. 

But Ed felt a bit more secure, recalling back to a surprise lecture Mustang had held for the command candidates on his last day, about what to do if another member of the military came to you to report abuse (and every one of them had known _exactly_ what had spawned that unusual addition to their curriculum). And, as irritated and embarrassed as he'd felt during the lecture, he was grateful for it now, because he had a guideline to follow: Let them decide how to approach the matter, reassure them that nothing about the abuse is their fault, and give them the support they need to follow through on however they want to handle future interactions with their abuser. 

"Punching you back, though," he offered gently, "that was serious shit on his part. Talking about people like they're property, that deserves a few good punches. As your instructor, I approve, though I probably should have taught you how to dodge a bit better. Sorry about that." 

Without any warning, Gloria threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and hiding her face against his clavicle. 

Ed hugged her back gently, not wanting to upset any wounds he couldn't see. "Hey," he whispered into her hair, "I've got you. You're safe." 

"Thank you," she got out, sounding choked. 

"Hey, little bitch, where are you?" someone called out, and Gloria went tense all over. 

The light of a lantern came through the trees, preceding its owner, and Ed frowned when they weren't stopped by Heinkel; that didn't bode well. He carefully slipped from Gloria's grasp and turned to face the approaching person, remaining crouched, in case he needed to use his alchemy. 

"Leading me on with light, eh?" he added, before stepping into the clearing. Then he froze, his eyes coming to rest on Ed. "Wait, who–"

Ed didn't let him get out any more than that, rising smoothly to his feet as he stepped forward and punched the guy hard in the gut, then took another step forward and, catching his hair as the fucker leant forward to clutch his stomach, slammed his face into the automail knee that came up to meet it. 

The guy hit the ground, senseless, blood oozing from his nose. 

"Oh my god," Gloria breathed, sounding somewhere between horrified and awed. 

Ed leant over and put out the guy's lantern before it could start a fire, then turned his attention to the direction he'd come from and croaked out a call. 

Heinkel replied in the same manner just before he came into view between the trees. Gloria let out a startled noise behind Ed as he quietly ordered, "Report." 

"Five of the teenagers are out looking for her," Heinkel murmured. "They don't seem to have alerted the rest of the compound." 

"Small mercies," Ed muttered to himself, then requested, "How many are down?" 

Heinkel's eyes flickered down to the form at Ed's feet. "Two." 

They had two options: Take the other three out and find some way to keep them prisoner until they were ready to attack the compound, or leave them to wander around and hope they got bored and went to bed without straying so far as to find their camp. Either choice chanced the compound's leadership discovering the missing members, which would mean a large-scale search, and there was no way his group could avoid that. 

Ed kicked the prone body at his feet. "Fucking kids. Shit, fine. Take out the rest of the fuck-shits and gag them and tie them to a few trees, then everyone back to camp; we'll have to move tonight." 

Heinkel's jaw tightened. "Yes, sir," he murmured. 

"Fuck off," Ed ordered as he leant down to grab the kid at his feet and drag him over to a reasonable tree, leaving Heinkel to vanish back into the trees. "Can you stand?" he asked Gloria as he passed her. 

"Y-yes," she whispered, and got unsteadily to her feet, collecting Ed's lantern as she did. 

Ed shoved his victim against the tree, then set about transmuting his clothing into a gag and some basic rope ties, leaving him wrapped around the tree in a hug, his naked arse hanging out for all the world to see. "Awesome," he decided. 

"You're an alchemist," Gloria realised behind him, and Ed glanced back at her to find her staring at him in disbelief. 

"I am," he agreed. 

"You're–" She swallowed, looking him over, and Ed could practically _see_ her ticking off a mental checklist: Alchemist, check; blond, check; young, check; not ridiculously tall, check; hunting terrorists, check. "But you can't _possibly_ be... _him_."

Ed blinked. "The Fullmetal Alchemist?" he suggested, and she nodded. "Why not?" 

"Because you're _nice_ ," Gloria insisted. 

Ed blinked again, then glanced towards his bound prisoner. "Right. You know, I was actually joking about the demon spawn thing." As if this kid had any idea what he'd said to the one he'd grabbed on the train (or even cared, given his unconscious state). "Fuck it," he muttered to himself as he turned back to Gloria. "Come on, I'll have to take you with me back to camp. Make you some ice for that eye, maybe." 

Looking rather like she wasn't certain she was making a good life choice, Gloria nodded and followed him back the way he'd come. 

She started stumbling before they reached the line of alchemic traps, clearly exhausted from the strain of the day, and Ed gently touched her shoulder. "Stop. I'll carry you." Then he turned his back to her, ignoring the warning voice in the back of his head that this could be a trap, get him alone in the woods with someone who seemed trustworthy and–

Gloria climbed carefully onto his back, one arm clutching desperately at his shoulders, turned awkwardly in an attempt to keep from choking him, while her other hand kept hold of the lantern. 

Fucking shadows. 

Ed hefted her, wrapping her legs around his waist, then finished the trip to the campsite, stepping easily around the traps, grateful he didn't have to direct her around them. Once inside the clearing, he set her down next to one of the fallen logs they used as seats and quickly transmuted her some ice from their water stores while she sat. 

"You don't have a campfire," she realised as he brought over the ice. 

"Big fires are easier to spot," Ed admitted with a shrug, "and they smoke, which is worse. We make do with lanterns. Here," he gently caught one of her hands and pressed the cloth with the ice into it, then brought it up to press against her eye. She let out a quiet pained noise. "I know, but it'll help. I'll go get something to clean your face in a minute, but was there anything else I need to check on? You were limping a bit, I saw." 

"I just...twisted my ankle," she admitted, motioning towards her right foot. 

She'd been able to walk on it, so he doubted it was broken, but still... "Can I see?" 

She gave a careful nod. 

It didn't take him long to diagnose a sprain, and he collected a wrap for it from their field medical kit, as well as transmuting more ice and grabbing supplies to clean her bloody nose, which was (thankfully) not broken, though clearly tender. 

He'd finished patching her up long before the others got back, and had given her Heinkel's spare coat – which he _still_ didn't understand why the idiot hadn't left in the car – since his button-up wasn't really big enough for her, and some of the rips in her dress were a bit suggestive, but he wasn't going to suggest fixing it while she was wearing it. (Honestly, he'd just as soon leave the issue of her ruined dress to Teacher, who was less likely to cause embarrassment in the process of assisting.) 

"Are you?" Gloria asked as Ed slipped his button-up back on. "Fullmetal, I mean?" 

Ed sighed, then held down a hand to her. "Ed Elric," he offered with his best smile, "the Fullmetal Alchemist. Nice to meet you." 

She swallowed and took his hand. "G-Gloria Richardson." She withdrew her hand after a brief shake and motioned towards the 3D map of the compound, which was just within view of her good eye. "You're nothing at all like they've always told us." 

"Our enemies," Teacher said as she stepped into the clearing, making Gloria jump, "often vilify us to make the lengths they'll go to seem more acceptable." She stopped next to Ed and cuffed him around the head. "Stop attracting trouble." 

Ed groaned and rubbed at his head. "Shut up. _You're_ not the one who's losing his sleep period." 

Teacher's stare made it clear she remembered well all the times she'd had to forcefully drag a book out of Ed's hands when he was a kid, as he'd just stay up reading all night, else, no matter how physically exhausting the day had been. 

Ed sighed. "Gloria's dress could use a fix," he offered in lieu of continuing that conversation. 

Teacher stared at him for another moment, then nodded and went to check on their visitor, leaving Ed to meet the rest of their group – and dodge Darius' half-hearted swat – on his own. 

While they waited for Teacher and Gloria to return from the trees, Ed requested reports on the current situation. It turned out that Gloria had run right past Sig's sentry position, and he'd been the one to call out the warning to Heinkel, who had then followed her, recognised her, and made the choice to get Ed, rather than leave her to her upset alone. While he'd been collecting Ed, the group of boys had come after her, clearly sneaking out, and fanned out in the trees. Heinkel had caught one who'd been attracted by Gloria's raised voice, but hadn't been aware of the one Ed had taken out. 

"The compound was still down for the night when we pulled out," Darius finished as the two women returned, "but who knows how long it'll take them to notice there's people missing." 

"Not until morning," Gloria offered quietly, looking around their circle uncertainly. Teacher had lent her some of her own clothing, rather than fixing her dress, and while her split lip and the swelling around her eye made it clear she'd had a hard time, she looked a little less downtrodden; Ed suspected Teacher had had a few bolstering comments for her. "For me, at least, no one cares until it's time to start breakfast, and that lot doesn't get a wake-up call until breakfast's ready." 

"Barring any midnight checks, we have a few hours," Heinkel murmured, eyeing the map they were sitting around. "At least a night attack means catching them unawares." Which, well, that had been their best plan after the first couple of days of watching, but caution had them sticking it out for the maximum time limit Ed had settled on, because while they knew the outside of the compound, they had nothing on the inside, and the hodgepodge building additions made it difficult to know what to expect. 

Gloria took a careful, limping step over the log Ed was seated on and gingerly lowered herself next to him, using his shoulder to help balance herself. "What are you going to do to them?" she requested quietly. 

"Knock 'em all out, wrap 'em up and stick a bow on their heads, then call in the Dublith troops to hold 'em until the train service is back up and they can be sent up to Central for trial," Ed offered with a shrug. "Same as usual." 

"Ish," Darius amended, while Gloria considered Ed, her expression suggesting she was debating something with herself. "Usually, they get left in the area command for local trial and then either moved to Central after being declared guilty, or kept in that area's prison, depending on space. But this group..." 

"It has to be public trials in Central," Ed agreed tiredly. "Never mind the sheer scope of their crimes, they brought themselves out into the public eye." He rubbed at his face, only vaguely aware of Gloria twisting next to him so she could face behind him. "Ugh. I don't want to get stuck in a Central courthouse. If old man Grumman tries to talk me into it, I'll punch him in the face." 

"No, you won't," Heinkel and Teacher chorused. 

"More's the pity," Darius added. 

"Stop encouraging him," Heinkel muttered, shooting his fellow chimera a glare. 

"Both of you shut the fuck up," Ed ordered, before turning towards the sound of scratching behind him. "Gloria, what are you–?" He stopped, took in the lines she was scratching out in the dirt. It was a series of squares and smaller rectangles in a shape that wasn't _quite_ a perfect rectangle, but looked suspiciously like the hodgepodge building they'd been watching for almost a week. "Is that–?"

She finished her last line, then used the stick she'd found to point at a spot just in front of her feet. "Front door," she announced, and the rest of Ed's group got the fuck up to come see, "main hall, meeting room, dining room, kitchen, staircase, Boss Trevor's office, Boss Ritchie's office, weapons storage, and I don't know what that room is, no one's allowed in but the bosses." 

"I'll bet a month's supply of kitty litter that's the explosives," Darius said, before letting out a grunt; Ed was nearly certain Heinkel had punched him. 

"You can't bet supplies you don't have," Ed pointed out as Gloria started drawing again, "and no one here's gonna take that bet anyway, so shut up." 

Gloria walked them through the layout of the entire building, admitting, "I get assigned cleaning duty a lot, so I know where everything is." 

Even without taking her sprained ankle into account, there was no way Ed could have condoned taking her along on their attack, but he could and did get her to describe furniture layouts and who slept where to the best of her ability. They then used her layouts to plan their attack. 

Since Ed would be handling the likely explosives storage, he left the rest of his group to debate their upstairs attack, while he collected the ingredients to transmute a sleeping draft disguised as water, then brought it back and handed it over to Gloria, forcing a smile in response to her grateful expression. 

She was asleep before she'd finished it, and he caught the glass before it could slip to the ground and endanger the map, while Darius caught her. "Where do you want her?" he asked quietly as he picked her up. 

"Under the shelter, please. Just lay her down in my gear, since it's out." 

"Got it." 

They finished their planning once Darius returned, then Ed went to enclose the shelter, ensuring Gloria couldn't run for it if she woke before they got back – more so she didn't run afoul of one of the alchemic traps, rather than with any intent to hand her over to the military as a member of the group; like with Wackett, her unrequested assistance pretty much exonerated her in his eyes – before joining the others in last minute checks of gear. Once they all felt prepared, they headed out. 

At the sentry track, Heinkel and Darius split away from Ed, Teacher, and Sig, going to hunt down the three men who would be walking the perimeter. Once they reached the clearing, Ed motioned for Teacher to work on getting the doors opened while Sig watched her back, then left them to take out the vehicles. He disabled them, rather than encasing them in earth, since it was quieter, and checked the back of the lorry to ensure there weren't any surprises hiding in there – there weren't – then made for the nearest door into the building which, according to Gloria's map, should put him on the hallway with the two offices and the weapons rooms. 

He cleared the offices first, ensuring he wasn't about to be surprised by someone working late, then cleared the gun room and sealed the door against anyone sneaking around for a gun. 

And then, because he wasn't a complete idiot and had faced off against way too many booby traps, made a door from inside the gun room to the explosives room, taking care to only affect the wall and not anything leaning against it. Which, good plan, because the room had crates stacked up against the walls taller than Ed's doorway, all marked with the symbols for explosives, most of them also bearing the military's seal. 

"Are they all fucking giants in here?" Ed whispered as he cleared a couple of guns of pre-loaded ammunition – fine, _thank you_ , Grumman, for making him learn the most common guns – to use as bridges of a sort, since he didn't know how high the piles went, and he didn't really want to cause a shockwave by dropping a crate of explosives that had been caught near the top of the stack until he'd shifted its neighbour. 

The crates were only two deep, and he didn't have to clear many to make a path for himself (Ha, see! Being compact was a _good_ thing sometimes! ...He did _not_ just think that), so it didn't take him too long to get through to the room. 

The stacked crates of explosives ringed the room, stopping flush against either side of the doorframe. The room wasn't big, had just enough room for a slim person to move between the crates and the narrow table in the centre, but _still_. It was a fucking hell of a lot of explosives, and Ed probably would have ended up staring around at it in shock for a while, if not for the laboratory set up in the middle of the room, some sort of device letting out a low hum from under the table. 

Warily, Ed knelt and found what he suspected was an icebox of some sort, though where it was getting its power, he couldn't even begin to guess, given the lack of cords leading across the floor. Finding the door, he eased it open and peered inside and, yeah, he wasn't even a little surprised to find four glass jars of nitroglycerin sitting inside, surrounded by ice cubes. He sighed and closed the door again, cutting off the blast of cold air, then looked around the room. 

He could admit to being more than a little freaked out at the sheer _number_ of explosives the crates suggested they had. A handful weren't marked as being from anywhere in particular, and two columns had words that weren't Amestrisan on it – Aerugonian, he suspected, given they were the nearest neighbour – but the rest of them all had the crest of the Amestrisan military on them, and the fact that _so many_ explosives had gone missing was... 

He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at them. Fuck. They needed to find their mole, and fast. Because they either had some serious power, or they'd been filching weapons from the military for _years_ in preparation of a coup, and Ed really couldn't decide which option was more terrifying. 

Someone croaked out in the hallway and, sighing, Ed got up and opened the door. 

It was Heinkel, looking a little ruffled from his run along the track. "Darius is helping tie up the last few," he offered to Ed's raised eyebrow. "We'll have to find some way to confirm, but it looks like we caught everyone." 

"Remind me to befriend low-ranking terrorists more often," Ed muttered and Heinkel snorted. "Cool. Let's go see if there's a manifest or something in either of the offices." 

"How bad is it in there?" Heinkel asked, nodding at the room behind Ed as he slipped out into the hallway and sealed the door with alchemy. 

"Bad," Ed admitted. "Did find the nitroglycerin, though, so at least we don't have to go hunting that down." He sighed. "I really hope they've kept records of any explosives they've handed off, because there's no way we're going to be able to estimate how much we're looking for." 

"Damn," Heinkel muttered before they split up to search the two offices. 

Teacher joined him after a bit and, between the three of them, they managed to turn up a list of members, an inventory for the guns and the explosives (with notes about the other groups they'd been supplying), rough drafts of the note they'd sent out to the papers for the first train bombing, and ideas for future ones. There was, disgustingly, nothing pointing fingers at anyone in the military, and Ed sort of hated a lot that their mole was so thorough at covering their tracks. 

"Well," he said as they looked over their findings, "maybe Central's interrogators can get something out of these fuck-shits." 

"Assuming our mole doesn't get to them first," Heinkel pointed out grimly, and Ed grimaced. 

"It's also possible they just don't know who their benefactor is," Teacher added. "They may be working through a third party, or avoiding all face-to-face meetings; a far smarter choice when you're facing an opponent who refuses to kill." 

"I don't want this shit-fuck to be smart, I want them to fuck up so I can punch them in the fucking face." 

Heinkel snorted, while Teacher shook her head. 

"I'll go get Darius and we can round up those we left in the forest, then maybe pick up your terrorist friend, see if she wouldn't be willing to check names off for us," Heinkel offered, tapping the list of members' names. 

Ed sighed and picked up the sheets of bomb inventory. "Yeah, okay. I'll get started on the inventory, then." 

"No," Teacher interrupted, taking the paper from him, "you're going to catch some of that sleep you were complaining about missing out on while I keep an eye out for anyone we missed, and we'll tackle the inventory as a group." 

Okay, so maybe he was a _little_ tired, since that actually sounded like a good idea to him. 

Heinkel silently ushered him from the office they'd ended up in and led him down the hall to what Gloria had called the meeting room, where it turned out there were a couple fairly comfortable couches. "Get some sleep, Ed," he ordered, pushing Ed towards the nearest couch. "We can handle things for a few hours without you." 

"Fuck off," Ed muttered as he unstrapped his knife from his back and slipped it under the edge of the couch, in easy grabbing range, then laid down and closed his eyes. 

Fabric was draped over him and he breathed in Heinkel's familiar scent, let it carry him off into sleep. 

-0-

They had managed to miss one man, who'd come across Teacher while Ed was asleep, and would live to regret it. 

Darius and Heinkel had decided not to move Gloria until the drug Ed had used wore off, so they didn't get to the compound until after Ed had woken from his little nap. Which was probably for the best, because she'd greeted him by punching his shoulder. (Lightly, given, but still.) "You did that on purpose!" she snapped. 

Ed shrugged and admitted, "Yes. You clearly need the sleep, and you weren't going to do anyone any favours by staying up and wondering what was happening." He ducked his head slightly, trying to get a look at her face, but she stubbornly kept her hair between them, glaring out at him from behind it. He sighed. "You probably shouldn't be doing much walking on that ankle." 

Her shoulders slumped. "I know." 

He quirked a smile. "Come on, let's find you somewhere to sit. And then maybe you can help me out some." 

Getting her to sit meant she let her guard down a bit, and Ed finally got a look at her eye, which looked much better, but was still swollen, so he sent Darius, who was following them with an obnoxious smirk on his face, to get some ice. 

"So," he said while Darius was running his errand, "first things first, you helped us out, so anyone tries to drag you down with them at the trial, they're gonna be sorely disappointed, because I'm totally willing to spin this to keep you safe. And, too, my teacher, Izumi, says she's willing to house you in Dublith, if you need somewhere to stay and get back on your feet, so you've got somewhere to go from here, if you need it." 

"Oh," she whispered, her eyes going wide and watery. 

Ed accepted one of the ice packets from Darius and offered it to her. When she took it, he hooked a chair and dragged it over for her to put her feet up on. "Both of those promises, they're good, no take-backs," he told her as he carefully set the second pack of ice on her ankle. "You're solid, but if you're willing to help us a bit more, I'd appreciate it." 

She nodded. "Of course." 

He offered her a crooked smile. "Don't promise anything yet," he suggested, and she frowned. "We've got everyone trussed up upstairs and a list of their names, but that only helps if we trust them to actually answer to their names, which I don't. I was wondering if you'd be willing to mark them off for us. It does mean," he continued before she could speak, "that they'll know you turned on them, which could set you up for retaliation at a time or in a place where you're beyond any help Teacher or I could give, so if you don't want–"

"Yes," she interrupted after taking a deep breath. Her expression was set as she agreed, "I'll help you check them off. I'm not–" She faltered for a second, then stiffened her spine and took another deep breath. "I refuse to be afraid of them. I can learn how to protect myself, I can do that, but I don't want to start a new life running away from my last one." Then she deflated, looking lost and a little scared as she met Ed's stare with her one good eye. "Is that...is that okay?" 

Ed didn't really have words for how 'okay' he thought that sounded, so instead he asked, "Can I hug you?" because she looked a little like she could use one. 

She nodded, so Ed leant up and hugged her, whispering, "Thank you." 

She let out a muffled sob and nodded against his shoulder. 

Ed wondered if, maybe, he wasn't getting a little better at this handling crying females thing, because he didn't feel like he needed to run the other way. For once. 

-0-

They had, somehow, miraculously, managed to get all of the group, according to Gloria, and Teacher had managed to terrify some information out of the man Gloria had pointed out as being the one who dealt with other groups in the area, so Ed and his team had somewhere to start hunting. 

Which just left them with the room full of explosives. 

"Given they've already lost them once, I'm not sure we should give these back to the military," he commented, and someone snorted behind him. "But that does leave us with a massive pile of explosives to make vanish." 

"If you're going to start breaking them down to their base elements again, let us know so we can run," Darius requested. 

Ed flashed him a mean smile. "Ooh, I could, couldn't I?" 

"Please don't," Heinkel requested tiredly. 

Teacher snorted. "If you're not going to return it to the military, breaking the TNT down to base elements may be your best option," she allowed, "but I would use water to make the dynamite inert, and we should be able to do the same with the nitroglycerin." 

Ed grimaced. "I didn't even think of that." 

Teacher sent him a flat look. "You see nitroglycerin and explosions start going off in your head," she guessed. 

"Possibly," Ed admitted; it was kind of cathartic to blow things up, sometimes, if he could do so safely. "Okay, so, water for the nitroglycerin and dynamite, and deconstruction for the TNT." 

Teacher nodded and cracked her knuckles. "Let's get started on emptying this room, then. Take it all outside and we'll sort it there." 

"Ed," Heinkel called as they all separated to grab a crate, and he glanced over at him. "Consider leaving a couple crates, as an extra tie to the bombings." 

Ed sighed and nodded; the military was going to have some serious raised eyebrows if they completely cleaned the storeroom out. "Right. Two crates of the foreign lot, two from the military, one of the unmarked; that should leave a sufficient idea of their suppliers." 

"You know–" Darius started. 

"Shut the fuck up and don't contradict me," Ed ordered, "or I'll deconstruct a stick of dynamite just for you." 

Darius huffed as he left the room, which really just meant he was going to wait until later to give Ed hell, but such was their relationship. 

-0-

Once the collection of explosives had been whittled down, Ed pocketed those papers referring to how many there had been and any information he could find on the smaller local groups, then helped make sure all the terrorists upstairs had been watered and knocked out. With things as secure as they could make them, they took the smaller vehicle back to Dublith, and Ed left Teacher and Sig to make Gloria comfortable, and the chimeras to move their supplies back into their car, while he dropped past the military offices to give Loyd the information on where the group was. 

"You're kidding," he said once Ed had been let into his office. "I thought you were headed for Fotset, but you've been _here_?"

Ed shrugged. "I drop misleading information just to piss you off," he offered drily, and Loyd snorted, looking very much like he was willing to believe that. "I couldn't let the terrorists know I knew where their base was, and I don't know where the leaks are, so I just let everyone think I was headed further south." 

"But you don't care now?" Loyd guessed, sounding hopeful. 

Ed sighed and passed Wackett's map across the table to him, with the road they'd taken from the compound marked on it. "I've got a few loose ends to tie up, but if you could head out there and pick up those fuck-shits, hold them until the trains start running again, then send them up to Central, that would be perfect." 

Loyd blinked. "How many?" 

"Thirty-six." 

Loyd rubbed a hand over his mouth. "Right. I'm going to have to free up a couple cells." 

Ed snorted. "I'll leave that in your capable hands. For now, loose ends," he announced, waving as he turned to leave. 

"Ed," Loyd called after him, and Ed glanced back to find the man offering him a tired, yet grateful look. "Thank you." 

He shook his head. "Don't start thanking me until the trains are back up." 

"Will you even be here then?" 

"Not if I can help it," Ed admitted with a grin, and Loyd chuckled. "See ya," he called and made his escape. 

-0-

Goodbyes at the meat shop were relatively short, but Ed did pull Gloria aside and offer, "About that new life thing? If you keep on her, Teacher might take you on as a fighting pupil, once your ankle heals. She's ridiculously tough, but I guarantee there's no one better to learn from." 

"Other than you?" Gloria suggested with a smile. 

Ed snorted. "She still kicks my arse on a regular basis." He lightly touched her shoulder. "Ask her. And then, speaking from experience, _don't_ go join the military, 'cause she was so fucking pissed, you have no idea." Okay, Teacher had been angry about more than him selling his soul to the military, and she did seem to almost approve, now that Bradley was gone, but Ed wasn't sure he wanted Gloria to trade her life as a servant of a pro-Bradley faction, for one where she bowed to the whims of officers who might or might not care about her. 

Gloria laughed at that. "I'll keep that in mind." Then she hugged him. "Thank you," she whispered. 

He squeezed his arms around her. "You're welcome." He pulled back as she loosened her hold and offered her a smile. "Good luck." 

She nodded. "Be careful, okay?" 

"I'm _always_ careful," Ed lied as he started for the car, and Darius snorted. "You can shut up," he added under his breath as he reached the opened door. 

"That lying thing of yours is becoming pathological," Darius commented as Ed slipped into the driver's seat; since he knew the area best, of the three of them, it was decided he'd take first shot at the wheel. 

"Seriously," Ed ordered as he started the car, "shut up, or I'll start calling you Mr Gorilla while you're human again." 

Heinkel snorted from the back seat. 

"On second thought," Darius muttered, "pathological away." 

"You realise 'pathological' isn't a verb." 

"Shut up and drive."

.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a side-story for this chapter, which can be found, as always, on Archive of Our Own or LiveJournal. It's Darius/Ed/Heinkel smut, so if that's not your cup of tea, go ahead and skip it.  
> As a reminder, you may wish to read the whole chapter first, to avoid any confusion. (That said, it's following the first scene, so you can just skip off to read it right after that, if you want, tbh...)

Hunting down the last of the bombs didn't take long, and Ed rang Grumman after he'd dropped his note past the nearest police station for them to pick up the final group. "Clear," he said as soon as the line picked up. 

_"How clear?"_ Grumman requested, sounding as tired as Ed felt; he'd picked up a paper while they'd been in Dublith, and, yeah, people weren't happy about the south lines being shut down. 

"If any more bombs pop up, this group never had them." 

_"I expect you know what happened to the missing weapons inventory paperwork,"_ he said rather pointedly. 

"If such a thing exists, I'm sure it'll make its way to you eventually," Ed allowed; he'd actually sent it out with one of Chris' ladies before dropping by the police station, since she'd found him before he got there, so Grumman should have it within a couple days. And then Ed would probably get a scathing letter back about destroying military property, but fuck the bastard, anyway. 

Grumman sighed and said, sounding freakishly honest, _"Good work, Lieutenant Colonel."_

Ed...didn't quite know what to do with that – Grumman didn't _praise_ him – so he fell back on the old safety net of, "Fuck you, sir," and hung up. And then he sort of stared at the phone and decided, "Bastard needs a holiday worse than I do," before shaking his head and returning to their car. 

"Fotset?" Heinkel asked as Ed slid into the passenger side. 

"Yes." 

"No." Darius leant forward over the seat between them. "Celebration sex, _then_ Fotset." 

"You two have fun with that," Ed replied, relaxing against the cushioned back of the front bench. "I'm happy to watch." 

Heinkel let out an amused snort while Darius turned narrowed eyes on Ed. "You promised me arse." 

Ed pretended to think about that for a moment, using one hand to cover the grin he couldn't quite suppress. "I don't remember that promise," he announced once he no longer felt like he was about to start laughing. 

Darius stared at him for a long moment, his eyes still narrowed, before he turned to Heinkel. "He's a liar." 

"Pathological," Heinkel agreed, and Ed snorted as Darius shot him a victorious smirk. "We're not in a rush," Heinkel continued, "we can camp overnight, or aim for Syrell and get a hotel." 

"Hotel," Ed insisted, and Darius fucking _cackled_. "I will punch you in the face." 

"I'm strangely okay with that," Darius decided. 

Heinkel blindly reached over and shoved him hard enough that Darius flopped back onto the back seat and the whole car shuddered with the motion. "No punching or you're both walking." 

Ed cleared his throat, but Heinkel shot him a look that said he would regret it if he tried pulling rank, so Ed huffed and slouched in his seat. "No punching," he agreed. 

"Groping, however..." Darius suggested. 

"Keep your hands to yourself until we get into the hotel room," Ed ordered. 

Darius sighed and very obviously changed tracks, asking, "Were there any groups along the route that you wanted to tackle?" 

Ed considered that for a moment, going over his mental map of the intel Grumman had given him, as well as what he'd picked up since from the Dublith group and word of mouth. "If we're staying over in Syrell, there's a small group north that I heard about in Rush Valley. They're still sticking to the smaller villages, for the moment, but the fact that they heard about them in Rush Valley..." 

"Do we know where, exactly, they're located?" Heinkel asked while Darius pulled out their map of the southern area. 

Ed shook his head as he turned to lean over the back of the seat. "No, but we should be able to narrow it down in Syrell, if we take a few hours to snoop in the morning." He pointed between a few of the villages that were just barely big enough to be marked on the larger country map and the huddle of villages that only appeared on the area map, all of them to the south-west of Rush Valley. "Most of the thefts have been from the more southern towns, closer to Syrell, which makes sense, really, because no one in their right mind is going to try stealing from someone who lives that close to Rush Valley; even odds if they've got a gun hidden in their extremities or not." 

"Automail users are weird that way," Darius agreed drily. 

Ed rolled his eyes. "They're tacky and stupid as all shit; why bother with a gun in your arm when you can just own a regular gun and not chance the damn thing gumming up the works because a round didn't chamber properly or whatever?" 

Darius snorted. 

"Yes, I know you're trying to make fun of me, but I'm not that weird." 

"Ed," Darius said, his eyes fairly glittering, "you used to turn your arm into a blade." 

"Alchemy is something completely different from the bullshit those other automail weirdos screw around with." 

"Right. So, _alchemists_ are–"

"Shut the fuck up, monkey-brain," Ed ordered, and Darius flashed him a mean grin. 

"Walking," Heinkel reminded them. 

Ed raised his eyebrows at Darius, who grimaced and nodded; truce, for the moment. 

He turned back to the map. "I'm hoping we'll pick up some better information in Syrell, maybe get an idea of where these fuckers are camped out." 

"After two weeks without train service, I'm sure people have been going a little stir-crazy," Darius pointed out. "We're going to have to sift through a lot of misleading information." 

Ed shook his head. "No." He tapped the marker for Syrell. "Crime sprees like that happen in big cities, places where people have the leisure time. We're heading for farmland; the only stir-crazy we'll be faced with is a lack of outside gossip, and I think we can solve that pretty well." 

"You would know, wouldn't you, farm boy?" 

Ed just stared at him. 

Darius groaned. "Dammit, Heinkel! Would you stop putting a moratorium on our bickering?" 

"I am not crashing the car because you two decided to come to blows," Heinkel informed them drily. 

"I can fix the car," Ed pointed out. 

" _No_ ," the chimeras chorused. 

"Keep your 'cool' alchemy redesigns away from the car," Darius added. 

"You arseholes have no sense of style." 

"Says the idiot who ran around in a bright red coat while liberally pissing people off." 

"Go fuck yourself." 

"Both of you shut up!" 

Ed huffed and turned back around in his seat to face front. "Darius is right," he muttered, "you suck all the fun out of our conversations." 

The look Heinkel shot him made it clear he believed 'conversations' was entirely the wrong word. 

From the back seat, over the sounds of the map being folded back up, Ed heard Darius snickering. 

Arseholes, both of them. 

-0-

They managed to take out a couple groups on their way to Fotset, taking their time getting out there, then spent a week collecting intel on the larger group down there before taking them out. 

"It may be time," Ed commented as they went through the group's paperwork, about half of which was written in something other than Amestrisan, "that I picked up a few languages." 

"I love how casually you say that, like learning a new language is as easy as taking someone home for the night," Darius muttered. 

"Isn't it?" 

Darius shot him a disgusted look. 

Ed shrugged and ducked his head back down towards the paperwork to hide his grin. "I know it's not that easy. I only picked up a little bit from Ling–"

"Who Greed never let talk," Heinkel pointed out. 

"You didn't sleep with them often enough," Ed muttered, because Greed had fairly regularly let Ling have control of their body back after he was sated, so long as Ed was the only one there, and Heinkel snorted while Darius outright laughed. "Shut up. He taught me a little bit." 

"Pillow talk," Darius said to Heinkel in a stage whisper. 

Ed threw a pen at him. "And I got Keith to teach me a little Cretan during our free time at the academy, but he kept insisting I take it slow because it's a 'hard language' or whatever." 

"Is it?" Heinkel asked. 

"I didn't think so." 

"I may hate you a little bit," Darius informed him. 

Ed flashed him a smirk. "Is monkey-brain jealous that mine is bigger than his?" 

Darius flashed him a smirk right back. "I'll show you whose is bigger." 

"Yours isn't that big," Heinkel deadpanned, and Ed couldn't help a laugh at the pathetic look Darius shot his fellow chimera. 

" _Muscles_ , Heinkel," Darius insisted, and Ed had to crouch down behind the desk he was searching and clutch his stomach, he was laughing so hard. "Why are you such a pervert?" 

Ed couldn't see Heinkel's response, but from the way Darius started cackling, it was probably sufficiently disgusted. 

He shook his head, still snickering to himself, and stood back up to continue going through the desk. Except he made the bad life choice of looking at Darius and found him doing that disturbing little dance with his eyebrows again and just...decided he needed to sit on the floor and laugh for a while. 

Arsehole. 

-0-

With the help of a Cretan dictionary and a native Aerugonian who'd immigrated to Amestris, they were able to use a couple of the papers they'd found to track down local groups and break up a weapons trade. Of course, Ed hadn't really banked on the Aerugonian knowing someone in one of the groups, and they ended up walking right into a fucking trap. Which, well, it wasn't the first time they'd been seen by one of these groups en route, but it _was_ the first time they were expected and the idiots hadn't fled, and it showed in the hail of bullets that greeted them as soon as they came within range of the building. 

Ed threw up an earthen wall for them to hide behind, and they sketched out quick plans in the mix of military hand signs and their own additions (which incorporated things like their chimera abilities and Ed's ever-evolving alchemy) that they always used in enemy territory. 

While Ed hadn't got in the sort of practice he needed to feel secure actually using Mustang's flame alchemy, it hadn't taken him much to figure out how to affect the oxygen in the air, so while Darius and Heinkel split off to either side of the wall, into the low brush, Ed clapped his hands together and closed his eyes, turning his focus to drawing the oxygen away from the building. 

The sounds of shooting were quickly replaced with people letting out panicked noises as they gasped for breath, and Ed let the alchemy go, so his team would be able to breathe when they went in – he didn't have quite the skills needed to keep them surrounded by a bubble of oxygen while depriving their opponents. And then he just sat there and took a moment to catch his own breath, because it was far from easy to pull a single element from an area when you didn't really know what that area looked like. By comparison, using an element to act as an ever-extending bridge for a spark was simple. 

And he should probably tell that to Mustang next time he saw him, just for the expression he'd make. 

He opened his eyes, only to find himself facing the muzzle of a handgun, which was being held by a boy who couldn't have been more than ten and looked half terrified. Ed slowly raised his hands in a sign of surrender and murmured, "Please put that down." 

The boy shook his head. "No," he said, a hint of an Aerugonian accent to his voice. "I will be great honoured for killing the blond one." 

Ed sighed and put on a flat look. "I don't want to hurt you, kid. Put it down." 

He saw the moment the kid decided to fire and threw himself out of the way, leaving the bullet to lodge into the remainder of his earthen wall where his head had just been. In the distance, he thought he heard someone call his name, but he was more focussed on rolling to his feet and grabbing the gun with one hand, pointing it up so the next shot went uselessly into the sky, while he used his other hand to knock the kid out. 

The kid slumped to the ground, leaving the gun in Ed's hand, and he'd just finished emptying all the bullets – he didn't like carrying loaded guns, okay, and he wasn't about to leave it with the kid – when something exploded from the other side of his wall. 

He had a moment of frozen terror – it was still too close to the train bombs, to handling crates of explosives and pretending they weren't walking hand-in-hand with death – and then he spun and tore down his wall with a quick clap, started towards the building, the right half of which was a ruin of blackened wood and plaster, flames licking along the remainder. "Darius!" he shouted. "Heinkel!" 

Heinkel stumbled out of the left half of the building, his glasses missing, bloody rips in his clothing, and a burn on his left forearm. He looked somewhere between furious and panicked, and Ed didn't need him to say anything to know Darius had been in the part of the building that had exploded. 

He clapped and formed his carbon armour as he ran for the site, ducking through a giant hole in the front-facing wall just before his shirt finished hardening too much for him to easily do so. "Darius!" he called ahead, squinting into the smoky interior. Given the hole in the ceiling, it wouldn't take long for it to clear, even with the little fires still burning, but that still wasn't fast enough, so he clapped and activated an array that would give birth to a gust of wind, strong enough to clear out the smoke and put out a few of the small fires. (Also, strengthen a few others, but Ed really couldn't be arsed about that right that moment.) " _Darius_!"

A weak cough came from the far side of the room, and Ed vaulted over the fallen ceiling, dodged a struggling fire, and found Darius lying amid the remains of what looked to have once been a table and some kitchen cabinets. His trousers from his knees down and most of his boots were gone, leaving blistered burns behind, and he had blood on his face, which Ed couldn't tell the exact origin of. 

"Fuck," he breathed. 

Darius' mouth twitched, like he was trying to smile, and Ed couldn't quite hold back a noise of relief. 

Still, there was no way Ed could move Darius on his own, and a quick glance at the way his little shelter had fallen showed he was either going to need some fancy alchemy or a second set of hands, so he shouted, "He's alive! I need your help!" 

Heinkel appeared through the same hole Ed had used after a moment, his burned arm wrapped in the remains of his shirt. He took a second to get his bearings, then moved with far more care than Ed had across the room. When he reached them and saw Darius, he snarled, "Shit." 

Ed clenched his jaw and nodded; that was a pretty good way to put it. "Hold the table so I can get the worktop before it falls," he ordered, because it looked like the table was bracing the stone worktop, miraculously; it had probably saved Darius' life. 

And, fuck him, Ed could not _deal_ with how close they'd come, how close they could _still_ be; awake enough to try smiling or not, he had no idea the full extent of the damage, and Darius could be fucking _bleeding out_ while he was debating how to unbury him safely. He needed to be _doing_ something, not thinking. _Anything_ but thinking. 

As soon as Heinkel had a good grip on the table, Ed clapped and shifted the worktop to either side, folding over on itself until there was no chance it might land on Darius if it fell. He had Heinkel move the table, kneeling to brace the remainder of the cabinets, just in case, then used alchemy to get that out of the way once he was certain it wasn't about to fall apart if he wasn't bracing it. 

Finally, they could see Darius' middle. He had a few of the same small cuts as Heinkel, but there was also a deep gash in his side, which was bleeding sluggishly. 

Ed clapped and pulled the carbon away from his right arm, then ripped off the sleeve of his button-up and wadded it up before pressing it tight to Darius' side. 

Darius let out a weak grunt. 

"Don't fucking die on me, you arsehole," Ed snarled. "Heinkel, check his head for whatever's bleeding." 

Heinkel carefully knelt at Darius' head to do so, while Ed did some quick one-handed alchemy to turn his button-up into a wrap and twist it around Darius, keeping the wadded sleeve pressed tight to his side. "Minor," Heinkel reported after a moment. 

"Good. Let me turn the table into a stretcher, then we can get him out." 

"And clear us a path," Heinkel pointed out as Ed turned to transmute the table. 

Ed glanced at the mess between them and their exit as the table shifted under his hands. "Yeah," he agreed as the alchemy faded, its work done, "give me a sec." 

He pulled from the ground under the building, since the floor was about as viable as the ceiling, at this point, and made them a tunnel, then helped Heinkel move Darius onto the former table and carry him out of the building and down the road to where they'd left the car. 

It took a bit of work – and some, admittedly, reassuring grunts of discomfort from Darius – but they got him stretched out across the backseat and wrapped his legs in a couple of clean sheets that Ed and Darius had both mocked Heinkel for adding to their gear. (No one was mocking him now.) 

"Can you drive?" Ed asked Heinkel, and he nodded. "Good. Get him to hospital in Fotset." 

Heinkel narrowed his eyes. "You're not coming?" 

Ed motioned back towards the ruins of the building. "One of us needs to clean this shit up, and you're in need of a doctor, too. Send the locals up after me, if you must, but I'm finishing what we came here to do." And he couldn't fucking sit in hospital, waiting to hear news about Darius; he needed to be doing something, and cleaning up this mess, getting some fucking _answers_ from any survivors, that was the best task he could set for himself right now. 

Heinkel's jaw clenched and he gave a tight nod. "Yes, sir," he bit out. 

"Hospital. Now," Ed ordered; if Heinkel was going to start 'sir'ing him, he was going to start ordering him around. 

He waited until Heinkel had driven away, then turned and stormed back up to the remains of the building. He created a cell in the middle of the yard in front of the building, then started tossing people into it, not being particularly gentle, and only checking for weapons or life-threatening wounds, the latter of which he bound, the former he took. 

When he was sure he had everyone who'd survived out, he stalked up to the cage and sent the occupants his best 'don't fuck with me, fuckwits' glare. "Someone," he said, keeping his voice low, letting his anger show through, "is going to start fucking talking, or I'm going to prove that I do, actually, have the stomach for torture." 

(He didn't. He really, _really_ fucking didn't, but he was pissed off enough that he could threaten it without feeling sick, which was a step up from usual. Or down; it was really all a matter of perspective.) 

Those of them conscious traded uncertain looks, but when Ed took an angry step forward, they all started talking. 

It came out to this: The Aerugonian they'd had translate the notes from the large group in Fotset had a nephew in this little group, and she'd sent out a warning to them shortly after Ed and his team had left her. They hadn't known any specifics about how Ed's team fought, beyond that he could use alchemy and his two men were both terrifyingly strong, so they'd just aimed to keep them at a distance. The nephew had got it into his head that, if they managed to catch him, it was over for _all_ of them, so he'd been hoarding grenades, and while the group leader had taken to divesting the crazy fool of them, he'd clearly missed one. 

Ed had dealt with enough crazy fools by then that he could actually see it: Darius coming upon the idiot, seeing him pull the pin out of the grenade, then running for what cover he could find, grabbing the table and using it as a blast shield. If it had been Ed, that table would have been enough cover – if it had been Ed, he'd have had other options, truthfully – but Darius was too big, hence the burns. 

He'd thought he'd heard someone call his name while he'd been dealing with that kid. Had it been Darius calling for help? Or had Ed's plight distracted him, and he hadn't seen the grenade fast enough to get it away from the crazy fuck before he'd pulled the pin? Would things have gone different if he hadn't been so careless with his surroundings? If he hadn't given the kid the chance to shoot, just taken him out? 

The arrival of vehicles tore him from his 'what if's before they could turn into a full-on attack – thank _fuck_ – and he turned to watch as Fotset's ranking officer, Colonel Sherman – who Ed absolutely did _not_ get along with, and who made no secret about his disapproval of Ed's careless disregard for both the chain of command and most military regulations – stepped out of the lead car. "Lieutenant Colonel," he called, his tone cool. 

Ed stalked up to him. "One of the fuckers had a grenade," he offered, motioning towards the ruined part of the building. "They're all out, sitting pretty for their trip to prison. Or hospital, a couple of them." He gave an agitated roll of his shoulders and admitted, "I need one of your people to drive me back to town. Please." Because now that he'd worked off some of his angry energy and had some answers, he really, desperately needed to check on his team. 

Sherman stared at him for a moment, during which Ed clenched his jaw and tried _really fucking hard_ to resist the urge to punch him, then knocked on the hood of his car and stepped out of the way. "Lance Corporal Karrier will take you back." 

Ed somehow managed to get out a brusque, "Thank you, sir," as he stepped past the man and ducked into the car. 

Sherman nodded to the driver, and the man put the car into reverse and took them out past the other military vehicles, all of which were pulled to either side of the dirt track, like they'd been expecting that the colonel's car would be leaving before they would. 

Ed knew he should be grateful, but the last of his anger was giving way to that same sweeping guilt that had plagued him after Hohenheim's death, and it was all he could do to keep his back straight and his expression blank. 

The lance corporal didn't ask where to take him, just pulled up in front of the hospital and, once Ed had got out, sped away, probably back to Sherman. 

He found Heinkel sitting just inside, looking tired and stressed, a cup of something held tight between his hands. He'd clearly been seen to by a doctor, as Ed could see bandaging under his hospital-issue clothing and encasing the entirety of his left forearm, which was a minor relief; at least one of his team was okay. Mostly. 

Heinkel got to his feet as soon as he saw him, a suggestion of a wince crinkling his eyes as he moved his left arm, and he held out his uninjured arm. 

Ed walked up to him, had to swallow twice to get the fucking guilt out of his throat so he could ask, "How is he?" 

"Commanding officers and next-of-kin only," Heinkel growled. 

"Bull-fucking-shit," Ed snapped. 

Heinkel shook his head, then used a hand on Ed's back to guide him out of the main sitting room and down a hallway. Ed thought he was leading him to Darius' room – or at least his doctor – but he was instead led into a public toilet. "Heinkel's, what–?" he tried as the chimera glanced around the room, then locked the door. 

And then he turned around and caught Ed with his good arm, pulling him into a hug. "You look like you're two breaths away from an attack," he murmured, and Ed closed his eyes and pressed close to Heinkel because, yeah, he probably was; this situation had all the fucking triggers that usually set him off, and his only saving grace, so far, had been not really having enough time to think. " _Breathe_ , Ed." 

Ed did, took deep breaths and ran through the components of the human body in his head, let the familiar list centre himself, because he couldn't afford to fall to pieces when one of his team was in hospital and the other was wounded. He needed to be at the absolute top of his game, to cover for them; he could fall apart when they were safe. 

He pulled away and yanked out his hair tie so he could catch whatever had fallen out and do it back up again. When he looked up, he found Heinkel watching him, looking rather like he wanted to curl up in a hole and hide from the world as much as Ed did. "Right," he said, drew his command training around him like armour, let it straighten his back and serve as in place of the strength he was struggling to find, "let's find this doctor and get an update on Darius." 

He led the way out of the toilet, let Heinkel's barely-there hand on his back guide him towards the nearest nurse station. The woman sitting there offered them both bright smiles, her attention naturally sliding to Heinkel, and Ed knew it was his age, that even with the half-hidden mass of scars on his shoulder, he looked like a kid in his black vest, and that wasn't accounting for whatever shit he had left on him from going through the ruined building. "What can I do for you, sir?" 

"You can tell me," Ed said, and she turned back to him with a startled look, "where I can find Second Lieutenant Darius Wright's doctor so they can update me." 

She smiled at him a little uncertainly. "I'm afraid that we can only give that information to–"

Ed pulled out his pocket watch, keys jingling brightly against the back, and held it up for her to see. "I'm Lieutenant Colonel Edward Elric," he said flatly, "Second Lieutenant Wright's commanding officer." 

She pushed out of her chair in a rush. "Let me find Doctor Stevens," she offered before hurrying away. 

"Yet again," Ed muttered as he shoved his pocket watch and keys away, "I'm reminded of the power of that _fucking_ uniform." 

Behind him, Heinkel snorted, far too familiar with the rant to actually engage. 

It didn't take the nurse long to return with a man who was Ed's height and wore glasses not all that different from Heinkel's missing pair. He must have been warned in advance, for he looked straight at Ed as he requested, "Lieutenant Colonel Elric?" 

"Yes." 

The doctor nodded. "If you'll come with me?" He motioned for Ed to follow him down the hall, but stopped as soon as he realised Heinkel was following as well. "I'm sorry, but hospital policy–"

"I've heard your hospital policy," Ed interrupted, turning a hard stare on the doctor. "Now you can hear mine: There are three men in my team, and we stick together, _especially_ if one of us is wounded. Second Lieutenant Potez will be coming in with me, and one of us will be allowed in Second Lieutenant Wright's room at all times." 

The doctor stared at him in return for a long moment, before caving under the force of Ed's 'I will not take any more shit today' stare. "Fine," he agreed, turning away from them. "This way." 

"Remind me later," Ed murmured to Heinkel as they followed the doctor, "to find a way to get the three of us added as next of kin on each other's files." 

"Good idea," Heinkel muttered in agreement. "Neither of us wants to be stuck sitting around and worrying while we wait for Mustang to show up because you did something stupid." 

Ed didn't quite have it in him to point out that he wasn't the first one who'd ended up in hospital, thanks, but he thought it, and it was true. Unless you counted him needing to go by Winry, which Ed _didn't_ , because he hadn't actually _broken_ his leg, he'd just grown a bit. 

The doctor let them into an unlabelled room, and they found Darius laid out on the bed, way too pale and with bandages wrapped around his head and legs, the latter resting on a pile of pillows to raise them. 

As soon as the door was closed, the doctor said, "Second Lieutenant Wright should make a full recovery, though I expect it will be a long one. The cut to his side is of the greatest concern, as it is quite deep and there was detritus inside when he got here. While we're certain we got everything out, there is a high possibility that he'll develop an infection, especially if he doesn't take it easy." 

Ed pressed his mouth tight and nodded; as if he didn't know exactly how hard it was to heal from a serious wound to the abdomen when you couldn't fucking stay still. 

"The burns are my next concern: They're second degree, which will require fairly regular care, and he'll have to keep moving his legs or the skin might tighten and he'll lose full use of them. We usually refer burn victims to the hospital in South City or Central City, as they're better equipped to handle complications, but given the concerns about his side..." He trailed off with a sigh. 

Ed glanced towards Darius with a frown. Complications with his side or no, there was also the very real danger of a terrorist group getting wind that their team was down and banding together with other local groups to try taking them out; Central's military hospital would have the necessary protection from anyone but the mole, and Ed or Heinkel staying in Darius' room would help mitigate that danger. Assuming the mole was stupid enough to try going after Ed's team themselves, which, so far, they seemed far too smart for that. And, besides, they seemed intent on Ed, rather than his team. 

"What about the head wound?" Heinkel requested, and Ed glanced back at the doctor. 

"It was ruled as not a danger. There's no signs of a concussion, and it had stopped bleeding by the time he was admitted. We're keeping an eye on it, just in case, but it's not a concern." 

Ed nodded. "When can he be moved to Central?" 

The doctor's expression said he very much disapproved of Ed's choice, but admitted, "I'd like to keep him overnight, at least. I believe there's a train leaving tomorrow afternoon. If you intend to take him, we'll hook up a medical car and have word sent ahead that there's a burn victim on this train, so a medical group from Central will be at the station to receive him." 

"From the military hospital," Ed insisted. 

The doctor gave a tight nod. "That is the normal policy for soldiers." 

"Fine. Unless a complication that requires he can't be moved comes up, we'll be on that train." 

"I'll have the arrangements made," the doctor promised before leaving the room. 

"Ed?" Heinkel murmured. 

"We can't chance some daring fuckwit making an attack on the hospital," Ed offered as he stepped up to the side of Darius' bed and gently cupped his cheek. "I mean it, arsehole; don't you dare die on me." 

Heinkel settled gingerly into a chair on the far side of the bed. "What about the car?" 

Ed sighed. "We'll have to write it off. I can get most of the stuff out of it, get that to the train, but there's not much to be done about taking it with us. We can buy another in Central and get Treasury to pay for it." 

Heinkel snorted. "Of course you will. And when the military tries to claim the car as their property?" 

"I've got two fists daring them to try." 

Darius choked out a laugh that sounded like it hurt, and Heinkel rushed to his feet so he and Ed were both leaning over him when the arsehole squinted his eyes open. "Knew I wasn't dead," he rasped. "Doesn't hurt, but Ed's threatening people." 

"Always a fair sign," Heinkel agreed, before nodding towards Ed. "Water's next to you." 

Ed quickly set about pouring a glass, then transmuted a bent straw from some napkins, so Darius wouldn't have to move. 

"Aw," Darius rasped when he saw the straw, "you do care." 

"Shut up and drink before I give you an actual concussion," Ed snarled, and Darius managed something that might had been related to a smile as he accepted the straw and took a couple careful sips. "Idiot," Ed muttered, tightening his hands around the glass, "you're supposed to pull your abnormally long legs up behind your blast shield when you're hiding from a grenade." 

Darius snorted and spat the straw out of his mouth. "I'll remember that next time," he promised, before closing his eyes. "Didja get 'em all?" he slurred out, clearly edging back towards sleep. 

Ed gently squeezed his shoulder. "All but their informant, and I'll send Colonel Tight-Arse after her as soon as I know he's back from corralling the rest of the fuckers." 

Darius let out a short laugh, his lips turning with a smile. "Good. Gonna sleep." 

"Do that," Heinkel agreed. "You're less trouble when you're passed out." 

Proving he was asleep again, Darius didn't have a response for that. 

Heinkel looked across at Ed as he set the water glass back on the table next to the bed. "Grenade? Informant?" 

Ed sighed and hooked a chair with his foot. "Yeah," he agreed as he sat down, then set about filling Heinkel in. 

-0-

After Ed rang through to Colonel Sherman's office to ask him to pick up their former translator as a terrorist informant, he rang Ishval, because Mustang deserved to know he was going to be on leave until his team healed. (And, honestly, Ed sort of needed to talk to a friendly voice who fucking _got it_.)

_"Ishval Command,"_ Fuery picked up, and Ed felt his shoulders relax at the familiar voice. 

"Hey, Fuery. The bastard around?" 

_"Ed! I just saw him, give me a moment,"_ he replied and Ed heard the receiver be put down. 

It didn't take long for it to be picked back up again, and Mustang, in that obnoxious smooth tone of his, said, _"Fullmetal. To what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your call?"_

Despite himself, Ed felt a smile struggling its way across his face. Stupid fucking bastard. "I'm taking that holiday you suggested," he offered. 

Mustang was silent for a beat, before quieter, almost kindly, asking, _"What happened?"_

Ed drooped back against the thin privacy wall separating him from the next public phone over and closed his eyes. "Fucker had a grenade and a suicidal agenda." 

_"Are you okay?"_

"If I wasn't, it would be my team fucking calling you," Ed pointed out. 

_"Ed,"_ Mustang replied, and Ed realised the bastard was asking as his friend, not his CO. 

He swallowed back the block that had built up in his throat and offered, "I was outside, but Darius and Heinkel both need medical leave." 

_"How serious?"_

Ed opened his mouth to respond, then paused, because he had no idea how secure the hospital lines were, and there was no way he was bandying about his team's medical situation if there was a chance someone was listening in. (Fucking shadows.) "Second degree burns," he settled on, because if anyone knew burns, it would be the Flame Alchemist. 

_"So two to three weeks,"_ Mustang assumed. 

"Four," Ed corrected, because that was more likely, in his experience, for the wound on Darius' side. 

Mustang was quiet for a moment – Ed could almost see him trying to figure out what wound would take that extra week to heal – then said, _"Take five weeks."_

"I don't–"

_"Ed,"_ Mustang interrupted, _"listen to me this time and take the extra week."_

Ed couldn't say whether taking leave after taking out the group by Dublith would have stopped this incident from happening or not, but all three of them had joked about taking a holiday a few times, and taking an extra week on top of Darius' expected healing time meant they'd all be less likely to rush it. "Okay," he agreed. "I have to ring old man Grumman next any way." 

_"You're still in the south,"_ Mustang said, sounding rather like he'd only just realised that. 

Ed snorted. "For the moment. We're heading up to Central soon as we can. Guess the lot down here don't trust themselves with burns." 

_"Burns are complicated."_

"You would know," Ed agreed. 

Mustang let out a snort. _"Give your sister a hug from me."_

"Ha. Want me to buy her something and say it's from you, too?" 

_"She wouldn't say no,"_ Mustang pointed out. _"Get her something from you and something from me–"_

"I'll get her a candle from you," Ed promised. 

_"Please don't."_

"I'll come up with something." 

_"On second thought–"_

Ed surprised himself by laughing, felt it wash away most of his stress and ease the knot of guilt that had taken up residence in his chest. "Thanks, Roy," he said, and it was oddly easy to use Mustang's given name. 

_"Enjoy your leave, Ed,"_ Mustang replied. _"Try and actually get some relaxing done."_

"Nah. I think I'm gonna try learning a couple languages," Ed decided, because this wouldn't have happened if they hadn't needed to depend on someone else to translate for them, and if he was going to be stuck in Central for a month, he might as well see what he could pull from the library and Central Intelligence's materials. 

Mustang sighed. _"Somehow, I'm not surprised,"_ he admitted, and Ed caught himself grinning. _"If your sister is speaking Cretan next time I visit, I'll know who to blame."_

"I'm taking that as a challenge." 

_"Of course you are."_ Mustang let out a sigh that Ed knew was all for show. _"Call the Führer and irritate him."_

"With _pleasure_ ," Ed promised, and heard Mustang chuckling as he hung up. 

He pulled out his pocket watch to check the time, then grimaced when he realised Grumman would be just about to leave the office for the day. He could ring him at Command and hope to catch him, or wait an hour and ring him at home. 

Given the uncertain security of the hospital lines and the fact that this was a business call, Ed sighed and picked the handset back up to ring Command. 

_"Lieutenant Colonel Elric,"_ Grumman said when the line clicked over to him, like he always did, and he didn't sound particularly stressed or angry, so Ed figured nothing had gone completely to shit in Central or the nation of late. Which was good; at least one of them was having a good day. 

"I'm taking five weeks of leave," Ed informed him flatly. "Darius and Heinkel are on doctor-ordered medical leave." 

There came the sound of papers being shifted on Grumman's end of the line. _"Fine. I expect a full report at your earliest opportunity."_

"I'll drop something by Command once we're back in Central." 

_"You'll come by my office,"_ Grumman ordered. _"I want it written and verbal."_

"You're a fucking bastard, sir." 

_"That's been military policy for longer than I've been alive."_

Ed suspected a lie – Mustang had let him slide with written reports and a bit of telling Ed what he'd 'forgotten' to mention for years, after all – but if he was going to avoid their mole snooping, he was going to have to take his written report straight to Grumman anyway. "Fine. I'll drop by the day after we get in." 

Grumman sighed, but didn't order him to come in sooner, which was suspiciously nice of him. 

Ed huffed. "If that's all the arbitrary orders you have for me?" 

_"Military policy is not arbritra–"_

"With all required respect, sir, go fuck yourself." 

Grumman snorted. _"Do try to avoid destroying any buildings while you're on leave."_

Unbidden, Ed recalled the half-destroyed building and, fuck, there went the good humour Mustang had left him with. "Yes, sir," he said, his tone way too fucking flat, too fucking _telling_.

_"Lieutenant–"_ Grumman started. 

Ed hung up the phone, because he really couldn't deal with the bastard any more. Instead, he went back to Darius' room and curled up in his uncomfortable hospital chair, leaning forward to rest his head against Darius' good side, let his steady breaths reassure him. 

"Ed?" Heinkel asked. 

"Called the Führer. Told him we were taking a fucking holiday for a month." 

Heinkel was quiet for a long moment, likely parsing through what Ed _hadn't_ said. "Okay," he finally said and didn't push any further. 

Ed let out a quiet sigh, almost wishing he'd rang Grumman first, then Mustang after. That stupid destroyed buildings joke. It was supposed to be fucking _funny_ , not–

A heavy hand came to rest on his head. "Ed?" Darius murmured. 

"Go back to sleep, arsehole," Ed ordered, tried to pretend he didn't notice how thick his voice had become. 

The hand brushed clumsily over his head once, then settled over his nape, a warm reassurance. And it helped, a bit, just like being able to feel Darius breathing. 

Wasn't he pathetic? 

-0-

The train ride was actually fairly boring, all things considered. Ed and Heinkel amused themselves by debating the watch schedule for Darius, whether they should actually bother with getting a hotel room (and where to put their things if they didn't), and other such nonsense that they felt safe discussing near the medic riding with them. When Darius was awake, the pain medication he was on left him fuzzy, which led to some amazing discussions-turned-debates, and Ed would always catch himself grinning during those and wishing he could somehow record them, because torturing Darius with his own drug-induced insanity would be a lot of fun, later. 

The rest of the time, when Ed was just staring out the nearest window or flipping through his Cretan dictionary, he tried to pretend he didn't notice Heinkel watching him, and made a habit of escaping for the toilet or to 'get some air' when he said Ed's name with that particular tone of his. 

Once they'd got into Central, though, and the doctors had kicked them both out so they could get Darius set up in his new room – brass-level security; Ed suspected Grumman was involved, and he was grateful, really he was – Heinkel managed to corner him in another toilet – there was a joke in there somewhere, if only Darius was there to tell it – and said, "Ed," in that tone that Ed had been trying so very hard to avoid. 

"Please don't," he requested, slumping back against the wall Heinkel had cornered him against. 

"None of this is your fault." 

He closed his eyes. "I know that." 

"There was no possible way for you to have known in advance that we were walking into a trap, or that one of the crazy fools had a grenade and the will to commit suicide to avoid capture." 

"I _know_ that," Ed insisted, because he did. He knew there was absolutely nothing he could have done differently. They'd been able to capture three other groups and take out a weapons trade with the translation from the Aerugonian who'd ended up betraying them, and they would have completely missed the weapons trade if Ed had taken the necessary time to translate the papers himself. He bore none of the blame for the complete clusterfuck of a mission, beyond his own lack of situational awareness, which had allowed a kid to sneak up on him with a gun (and he'd managed to avoid explaining that one to his team so far), and yet... 

Heinkel's good arm came to rest on Ed's waist, warm and familiar, and his head pressed against Ed's. "Believe it," he whispered, sounding very near a plea. 

Ed remembered a section from one of their command texts, which talked about how a commander's mood affected their people. If the commander lost hope – or, in Ed's case, let himself be swamped in guilt – their soldiers would know, and their own mood would go down. It was something Ed had long known – had practised with Al time and again, forcing a smile because that's all he had to offer his brother when things fell apart – but it was hard to remember, sometimes, when the very people he needed to be strong for were the ones who had helped him through some of the hardest times of his life. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered, reaching up and clutching at Heinkel's shirt. "Give me a minute." 

He shoved the wad of guilt back down, dropped a massive block of commander training on top of it to keep it there, and forced on a smile that felt too sharp, too brittle, but would suffice for a while. He'd already planned to visit the Hugheses later, see if Gracia was willing to store their things until Darius was released, and Elicia would do a lot, he knew from experience, to ease his smile into something more real. 

He reached up with one hand and cupped Heinkel's cheek, looked up into his brown eyes. "I'm okay," he promised, willed it to be the truth. "We'll all be fine. And, somehow, I'll keep from punching our Führer in the face tomorrow when he starts laughing." 

Heinkel offered him a smile in return, just as brittle, but better than either of them had managed when Darius wasn't rambling about whatever came to mind. "Please try to avoid a court-martial while you're on leave," he replied. 

Ed snorted. "The key word is 'try'." Heinkel sighed. "At least the bastard _likes_ me insulting him?" 

"How have you survived in the military so long?" Heinkel muttered, pulling away. 

Ed just let out a hollow laugh, because there was no good response to that. 

-0-

He'd been right about spending the evening at the Hugheses' doing a lot to improve his mood, as he caught himself honestly smiling about two minutes after walking in the front door, Elicia chattering up a storm while very determinately hugging him forever. The only way he'd managed to free himself was by mentioning he'd brought gifts. (And he had to wonder if that wasn't half the reason Mustang always brought her something. The other half, very obviously, was the absolutely delighted expression she developed when she saw her new toys.) 

"You're welcome to stay here, too," Gracia offered as they cleared a space in one of the hall cupboards for Ed and his team's things, those that they wouldn't need while Darius was in hospital. "The couch isn't that bad." 

Ed snorted and shook his head. "Thanks, really, but I'll feel a lot better staying in hospital with Darius and Heinkel. Make sure Darius doesn't do anything stupid when they move him from the happy drugs to something that doesn't constantly put him to sleep." 

Elicia, who was watching them from down the hallway, Ed's collection of photos from her, Gracia, and Al in her lap, and the stuffed monkey he'd bought her held tight in one arm, giggled. "Happy drugs," she repeated. 

Ed flashed her a grin. "They make you completely silly, so you don't need any, but I should bring you in to see Mr Gorilla one afternoon and you two can chat. It'll be epic." 

"Can I, Mama? Can I?!" 

Gracia sighed and looked a bit helplessly towards Ed, who was trying very hard not to laugh. "Maybe on Wednesday?" he offered, because that would give him all of tomorrow for visiting Command and the library and whatever other errands he needed to get out of the way, having returned to Central for a long-ish stay. "However," he added, turning to Elicia, who put on her best serious face at his firm tone, "there will be no climbing or jumping on either Mr Gorilla or Mr Lion until the doctor says they're better. If you misbehave, I'm bringing you home, and you won't see either of them again until they're released." 

Elicia slumped. "Okay." 

'Fair?' Ed mouthed to Gracia, who smiled and nodded, then commented, "I suppose I can trust you to Ed for the whole day." 

Elicia perked right back up again, grinning wildly, and Ed couldn't even _pretend_ he minded getting stuck with babysitting duty for a day. 

-0-

Since there was nothing to report about the incident that their mole couldn't easily pull from the report Fotset had or would send to Central, Ed didn't bother censoring himself when he made his report to Grumman. If it showed that he'd woken up in the middle of the night suffering from an attack and never managed to get back to sleep, Grumman didn't comment on it. He also didn't react to the flat tone Ed described the whole fuck-up in, though Ed swore he saw the bastard's mouth twitch down behind his moustache when he'd explained that the explosion had brought down half the building's roof. 

The only thing Grumman had to say after Ed had finished talking, was, "Colonel Sherman is nearly as complimentary about you, as you are of him," because Ed's tone of voice didn't keep him from referring to the Fotset commander as 'Colonel Tight-Arse', among other less-than-fond endearments. 

"That's because he's an arsehole who probably sleeps with the fucking rulebook," Ed retorted. 

Grumman shot him a flat look. "Perhaps a little too crude for the office, Lieutenant Colonel." 

"I just said he slept with it, not that he was fucking it," Ed pointed out. "Sir." 

Grumman's mouth twitched. "Thank you for that clarification." He leant back in his chair, expression turning considering. "What are you intending to do with your leave?" 

Ed narrowed his eyes at that question; it was never good when someone started asking after his free time, especially when that someone was their extremely manipulative Führer. "Pay a visit to the library and irritate my team by reading really fucking boring books to them." Which had actually crossed his mind, and he might well pick out a couple of basic alchemy books or the worst of the alchemic journals he and Al had hunted through to read aloud, just to see what the arseholes would do, but he was really going for books on other languages. Which would become readily apparent to anyone who checked his history, but lying about minor details had started to become second nature to him, especially when surrounded by military uniforms. (Fucking shadows.) "Refresh my knowledge of Central, for when trouble inevitably finds me in the most inopportune place." Because he really needed to learn Grumman's neighbourhood, especially after that report from his squad about being seen leaving the Führer's residence the night of the memorial. 

Which, well, if he was honest, watching the Führer's place wasn't a terrible career move, was right up there with tapping his office phone, but Ed would very much like to find the best vantage points over there so he could avoid them; the last thing he wanted was for some too-watchful spy to equate 'alchemy lesson with Gloria' to mean 'secret meeting with Grumman', because that was just _asking_ for someone to set a trap for one or both of them. 

Grumman gave a faint nod. "I see." 

Ed crossed his arms over his chest and resisted the urge to start tapping his foot. " _Why_?"

Grumman's mouth twitched like he was holding back a smile again, and Ed squeezed his arms over his fists, resisting the urge to punch the bastard. "You're familiar with the military's research labs, I believe?" 

"More so than I like to admit," Ed allowed. 

Grumman inclined his head. "We've cut back on the number of the labs in use for alchemy, and while I've tried dictating what they can work on, I'm no alchemist, and Major Armstrong is busy enough as it is with other matters, not to mention his alchemic studies were rather focussed; he can get a general idea about what someone else is working on, but he sometimes needs to be walked through parts, and he can't look at a master-level array and know exactly what it's for." 

'Not like you can,' Grumman didn't say, and, oh, Ed could already see where he was going, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. "Armstrong's not the only State Alchemist in Central," he pointed out, frowning. 

Grumman nodded. "True. However, you and he are the only two State Alchemists currently in Central who have anything approaching formal military training. Ceramic, Colourway, and Quicksilver are all more interested in the military for the grants and chance to work in the research labs, and Blooming isn't much better. The last, Iron-Form, is more interested in creating arms and armour than in ever learning how to use them." He smiled then, his eyes glinting, and added, "You're also the most knowledgeable State Alchemist, in terms of the breadth of your studies; I suspect you, and perhaps Brigadier General Mustang, are the only ones who would be capable of taking a couple of weeks to observe the labs and come back to me with a detailed report on the activities, without having to disrupt those working for constant explanations about their projects." 

"You want me to play spy," Ed said flatly, refusing to let his pride direct his response. (Because, _of course_ he had the greatest field of study of the alchemists employed by the military; he was one of the few alchemists who had survived a meeting with the Gate – was probably the _only_ one still alive to have survived multiple trades with the fucking thing – and the only other member of the military who could claim the same, had been avoiding using alchemy because he was living with people who disapproved. And that wasn't even _touching_ on the fact that he'd been an alchemic prodigy – truthfully, Al was too, but he'd been younger and so had less control of his transmutations than Ed – had started seriously studying the science years before most alchemists would have touched an alchemy primer.) 

"If you like," Grumman agreed. 

"I _don't_ like," Ed shot back. "This dog's off the leash for a month. You want me to do your fucking dirty work because you can't be arsed to pick up a fucking primer, you can wait until my leave's over. Is that all?" 

Grumman sighed and nodded. "Do let me know when you start itching for something to do," he suggested, like he thought he was dangling a fucking bone in front of Ed. "You're dismissed." 

"About fucking time," Ed muttered and stalked from the office, ignoring the half-disbelieving looks of the Führer's office staff. (Most of whom actually seemed to _like_ Grumman, so Ed didn't think he was really the one most deserving of those looks.) 

As he started across the parade grounds, however, he had to admit that Grumman's bone was a little tempting. Since Ed had studied various disciplines and had the Gate-given ability to understand most arrays with only some minor studying, it meant he wasn't a master of any particular branch of alchemy, so there was always more for him to learn. The chance to snoop through the remaining labs and watch alchemists with names like Blooming and Colourway and Quicksilver was...tempting. 

Recalling his half-joking comment to Darius about snooping through the personnel files of the higher-ups next time he was in Central, Ed thought he might just sneak in one night and look through the files on the alchemists, too. If nothing else, it would be nice to know more about the lot before Grumman sent him to spy on them once his leave was up. 

Ed was absolutely, one hundred percent, _not_ going to let Grumman give him work while he was on leave.

.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a side-story for this chapter, from Roy's PoV, which can be found, as always, on [Archive of Our Own]() or [LiveJournal](http://batsutousai.livejournal.com/347299.html). It's in the last scene, so best to read this entire chapter before going looking for it.
> 
> I love how well you lot know Ed. XD  
> While I was working on the guide for Ed's squad, [I did one for my original State Alchemists](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1h8d08WYRyiTqiiFzz-zotJrZd3lcSHG0savjEh00zA4/view). It includes a couple that showed up in _From the Worst of Times_ , but not in this series (so far), and one from _Dreaming in Red and Gold_ , who will appear in chapter 19 (I think?), so it's something of a pass-around guide. ^.^; It is, however, also full of **spoilers** for the characters' backstories, some of which you'll find out in the next couple of chapters, some of which you won't find out in this fic, so if you're a person who doesn't like being spoiled, best not to look at the guide. (Sorry. There wasn't really a good way to do a spoiler-free guide for them.)

While Heinkel – and Darius, though he was a bad judge right then – didn't mind Elicia visiting, it hadn't occurred to any of them that 'brass-level security' meant it was going to be a pain in the arse to get her in to see them. Elicia's pouty face got them past the front desk without having to sign her in – they traded high-fives in the stairwell – but the soldier standing at attention outside the room door was not moved by such, so Ed ended up having to pull rank, which he hated. 

"We're a good team," Elicia informed him as they stepped into Darius' room. 

"What did you do?" Heinkel asked tiredly from where he'd been hunched over the Aerugonian primer that Ed had found at the library and devoured in approximately three hours, much to Heinkel's unending disgust and Darius' drugged amusement. 

"I forgot what tight security meant in terms of getting non-military personnel in as visitors," Ed admitted with a shrug, while Elicia walked very slowly across the room and looked hopefully up at Heinkel. "It would be easier if I wasn't trying to avoid a paper trail." 

"The danger of accumulating rivals," Heinkel offered, using the more child-appropriate term for 'enemies looking to use anything they can against you', as he turned and picked Elicia up with his good arm. "And how have you been, Miss Elicia?" 

"Good," Elicia chirped, gently hugging him around the neck. "Big Brother says I have to be super-duper definitely big-time careful, or he's gonna take me home." 

"That's because your big brother knows how much longer it takes for things to heal when you're constantly pushing it," Heinkel replied, nodding. 

"Please shut up," Ed muttered; the _last_ thing he needed was for Elicia to learn he was a terrible patient and then emulate him, because it was even odds if Gracia, Mustang, or Ed himself would kill him for that first. 

Elicia turned wide eyes on him. "Did you get hurt, Big Brother?" 

"Mr Lion's talking about something that happened a long time ago," Ed insisted. 

Heinkel raised an eyebrow at him and Ed huffed and rolled his eyes. 

Elicia seemed to believe that – Ed had picked her up a few times without trouble, which went a long way towards proving he was fine, he was sure – and turned to the book Heinkel had been reading. "What's this?" 

"A book on the Aerugonian language," Heinkel explained patiently, carefully resettling her in his lap so she could see better. 

Elicia peered over at it curiously. "Big Sister Sabine said her name is A-e-ru-go-ni-an," she informed him, pronouncing the word slowly, as though trying to make certain she got all the syllables, and it was probably the most adorable thing Ed'd heard all morning. 

"Did she tell you what it meant?" 

Elicia shook her head. "She said she didn't know. Her mama picked it because it sounded different." 

Ed snorted at that as he dropped into the chair on the other side of the table. "I'll believe that." 

Elicia looked hopefully towards him. "Do _you_ know what it means?" 

Ed shrugged. "Nope. There's a Sabine River, though, in Aerugo, and I guess it's a pretty popular girl's name, since they use it in that book a few times." 

Elicia perked up at that. "I wanna see!" 

Heinkel motioned towards Ed, who snorted and caught the book by one corner, dragging it across the table and turning it so he could see it. "I can read you a few passages," he offered as he picked up a scrap of paper to mark where Heinkel was. 

"Okay!" 

"In Amestrisan or Aerugonian?" Ed asked as he flipped to the first passage he remembered. 

"Uh..." 

"He can do both," Heinkel suggested. 

"Both!" 

"I'm sure my accent is horrendous," Ed warned before settling in to read first the Aerugonian, then the translation. Which turned into Elicia wanting to learn how to say very specific phrases. Which then became, once he'd woken up, Darius attempting to trip Ed up by requesting he translate the most inane sentences ever, and Ed ended up having two different dictionaries and his alchemy journal opened next to him so he could write down declensions and scribble notes to himself. 

By the time it was time for Ed to take Elicia home, they'd all clearly had a good time, and Darius and Heinkel both looked better for the entertainment, so Ed knew he was going to be sneaking her in again. 

-0-

Darius was kept in hospital for two weeks, and they were all about ready to throttle each other by the time he was released to 'take it easy' in the hotel room Ed got them. 

Ed had already gone through all of the Aerugonian, Cretan, Drachman, or Xingan books he could find in both the military and civilian libraries, Intelligence, and the Armstrong library (which the major had invited him to check after Ed dropped by Intelligence for their stash) by then, and Heinkel was making his own steady way through the pile, while Darius rolled his eyes at both of them (and read the books Ed kept slipping under his pillow when he thought they were both asleep or otherwise occupied). 

Aerugonian and Cretan were the easiest to find resources for, and the easiest to learn, since they used the same alphabet as Amestrisan and shared some words. Drachman resources were only a little less common than the other two, but they used an alphabet that was a mix of Amestrisan and what looked, to Ed, to be a relative of what little writing he'd seen in Xerxes, which made learning it far more difficult, especially as more than half of the Amestrisan books on the subject didn't use the Drachman alphabet. 

As for Xingan, well, there wasn't much on the language of their distant neighbours, and none of what Ed managed to find used the strange alphabet Ling had used on that note for Lan Fan, which was a serious pain in the arse, but he'd learnt what he could. And since he was learning languages to keep from having to use another translator for messages passed in something other than Amestrisan, he didn't suppose it really mattered if he learned proper Xingan; it wasn't very likely that anyone would actually use it. (Still, he'd probably end up asking Al to teach him once he got back.) 

Bored, Ed had gone back to the library and taken out some alchemy books that he'd never read before, but those weren't much of a distraction from Darius' whining about how he was sick of being wounded and stuck inside all day, or Heinkel's irritated huffing as he tried some of the practice sentences in the books he was reading, which Ed had breezed through, but he was struggling with. (There was nothing he could do about being a fucking genius, okay? And fuck alone knew what language knowledge he'd gained from the Gate – he and Al had long assumed it have given them more than just alchemy knowledge – to augment his natural knowledge retention.) 

Visiting the Hugheses was always a relief, but he couldn't do it all the time. For one, it wasn't fair to force Heinkel to always be the only one at Darius' beck and call, and the part-lion needed to escape from the hotel room too, sometimes. For another, Gracia had enrolled Elicia in a local preschool when it had started, the week before Ed and his team's return, in the hopes that it would help her adapt to spending hours away from her mum every day, while avoiding the dramatic parting on the first day of school that they'd all heard horror stories about. And, while pulling her out for the day didn't really hurt anything – and Ed was absolutely willing to teach her a little bit about whatever he or Heinkel were reading that day – he could see the sense in teaching her, now, that Ed – or Mustang – being in Central wasn't an automatic pass from school. 

All of this turned into Ed donning his uniform and storming into Command midway through the first week of Darius' release. 

"Lieutenant Colonel Elric!" Grumman's designated secretary, Second Lieutenant Days, recognised as he shoved the heavy door of the bastard's outer office open. 

"Is he in?" Ed demanded. 

"Yes, but–"

"Is he with someone or on the phone?" 

"No, but–"

Ed ignored her and shoved his way into the inner office, to find Grumman sitting calmly at his desk, clearly in the process of reading through a report. He raised an eyebrow as Ed stalked up to his desk and dropped his hands down on the edge. " _Fine_ ," Ed snarled. 

Wisely, Grumman kept any victorious smiles to himself. That said, the file he handed over was sitting out on his desk, very obviously waiting for Ed to give in. "Consider it a curiosity, rather than a mission," he suggested as Ed snatched the file. 

"Go fuck yourself, sir," Ed retorted as he straightened and glanced through the file. It had basic information on each of the alchemists who were working in the labs – far, _far_ less than the personnel files he'd got into, but he also hadn't gone snooping for information on the non-military certified alchemists in the labs, so that was new – as well as information on each of the labs, and what Grumman would like to see them become. Laboratories one – which was weapon and transport development, managed by General Bess and Major General Colt – and four – which was a chemical lab, managed by Lieutenant General Peabody – were both well on their way to being what Grumman wanted, judging by the checks next to each of them on the paper, but the two alchemy laboratories were lagging behind, and neither had any names for who was managing them. "Well, there's your first problem; who's in charge of the labs?" 

Grumman folded his hands together on top of his desk. "I feel like we just discussed this," he remarked. 

Ed huffed. "So Armstrong's busy with Intelligence and you've got Mustang and me on clean-up, fine. Lack of formal military training or no, if you're going to trust a State Alchemist to lead a team in a battlefield situation, you should be able to trust them to manage a lab with a bit of oversight, right?" 

Grumman raised both eyebrows at Ed. "Feel free to put in your report which one you think would be best suited to the task. And do keep in mind that they'd have to be aware of their surroundings enough to be able to report on the work of the other alchemists, not just trust their words for it." 

Ed closed his eyes because, okay, yeah, that was a problem with research-focussed alchemists. Just like that fucker, Tucker, and how his alchemy had led to him neglecting his own daughter until he realised he could use her as a part of his research. 

Awesome, yeah, the last thing he needed was to be reminded of how he'd failed Nina. He snapped the folder closed and turned to leave. 

"Lieutenant Colonel," Grumman called, and Ed stopped before he could open the door, glaring down at the doorknob. "Be thorough." 

Ed shot a glare over his shoulder. "I know what alchemists are capable of; if there are any problems, I'll drag them back in chains." 

Grumman nodded, so Ed stormed out and made for their hotel; he might as well give Heinkel a spell while he looked over the paperwork. 

-0-

Grumman's eventual intention for the alchemy labs, was to have laboratory two focussing on medical-based alchemy, while laboratory three focussed on defensive alchemy. 

Laboratory three, from Major Armstrong's brief reports from three months ago, was still doing some work with weaponised alchemy, with a side of precious metals – Quicksilver's doing, Ed suspected – but Iron-Form had been trying to simplify his arrays to create armour from nearby materials, working with Ceramic and Quicksilver to incorporate their specialities. (Ed almost thought Iron-Form could make a good manager, at least for lab three, but looking good on a brief report was something entirely different from actually doing the task.) 

Laboratory two, on the other hand, was far from Grumman's goal, and Ed knew a lot of that was due to Amestris' medical-based alchemy being next to useless without the assistance of a Philosopher's Stone. (He made a mental note to ask Al to actually _send_ those Xingan alchemy texts he kept teasing, and either a translation or a language primer or some variation of the two.) For the moment, Armstrong reported they were working on plant and animal-based alchemy, the latter of which made Ed suspect chimeras. (He really wished he could just shut that down entirely, but there were no laws against animal experimentation, and he really fucking _hated_ that.) 

In the end, he decided to do laboratory three first, hoped it would be a quick run and he could hand it over to Iron-Form to manage, and then he could waste the rest of his leave trying to rearrange laboratory two into something he could stomach. 

Because he could see where this was headed: either he or Mustang needed to take charge of the alchemy labs, and Ed was the one most likely to be passing through Central for a surprise inspection, so it was going to end up being his job, even if Mustang was the one actually marked down as being in charge. Which, well, _duh_. Alchemy prodigy or not, Grumman couldn't _actually_ put down Ed as the person in charge of either of the labs; he was only seventeen, and the other two labs were both managed by members of the brass, so even if Ed was doing all the work, Mustang would be getting the credit. (Some things never changed, though Ed was far more okay with passing the credit on to the bastard now than he'd been before, and he couldn't honestly say if that was maturity, or the fact that he was very determinedly in this _for_ Mustang, rather than a means to his own ends.) 

Well, fine. Being in charge of banging the alchemy labs back into shape would both give him something to focus on after they finally finished cleaning up the pro-Bradley mess, and also give him an excellent excuse to visit the Hugheses on a fairly regular basis, without anyone in the military looking at him oddly for always making side-trips to Central. Better yet, he could forego the uniform in the labs, because past experience said he'd look far less conspicuous in a lab coat; Ed could always get behind military work that didn't require the fucking uniform. 

-0-

Getting out of the hotel room the next morning was only difficult because Ed had let himself be talked into serving as Darius' 'teddy bear' the night before and had stupidly fallen asleep, so he'd had to waste time disentangling himself from the grabby fuck, and Heinkel, the arsehole, had just sat at the table and _laughed_ at his struggle. On the upside, he left feeling a lot less guilty about leaving Heinkel alone with Darius all day. On the downside, he was probably going to end up paying for it that night. (Maybe he'd just take Gracia's open offer and crash on her couch? No, because then Heinkel really _would_ be out for revenge.) 

It wasn't a long walk, but the morning's struggle still left him arriving long after most of the staff would have been expected to be there. The guard at the gate gave him a suspicious frown as he approached, and said, "Hey, kid, this is military proper–"

His mouth snapped shut when Ed pulled out his pocket watch, and Ed smiled a bit meanly as recognition bloomed across the man's face. "I know where I am, Sergeant," he promised, patting the man's arm as he stepped past. "Keep up the good work." 

"Yes, sir!" the man called out, in that military tone of voice that said he was standing at attention and saluting. 

Ed sighed, rolled his eyes, and didn't bother looking back. 

There had been updated blueprints for all four labs in the file Grumman had handed over, so Ed adopted a purposeful air and made for the men's locker room, where he expected he'd be able to find a lab coat to run off with. He was in luck, managed to find one that he didn't have to resize, and he slipped it on before returning to the halls of the lab. 

He didn't have a particular destination in mind, just started wandering, holding tight to his purposeful air so no one was likely to pay him any particular mind. There wasn't much actual alchemy going on – which didn't surprise him, in all honestly, because actual transmutations were quick, it was the designing of the arrays that took time – but he saw a few people collecting materials from the large shop that took up most of the ground floor, and he stopped to listen in on a couple of debates. When most of them left for lunch, Ed ignored his own stomach in favour of snooping through some of the labs, poking through research that had been left out in the open, then went to get his own food when people started returning. 

Most of the researchers were looking into ways to weaponise alchemy, rather than turning it into a defence, and Ed suspected that was part familiarity – the Dwarf in the Flask and Bradley had hardly found defensive alchemy a priority – part a lack of creativity. After all, what sorts of defensive things could you do with alchemy? Create a shield? Could it stop bullets or alchemic attacks? No? Is it something a non-alchemist soldier can activate in the field only as needed? Also no? Then why bother? 

Ed rubbed tiredly at his face between bites; dammit, lab three was supposed to be the _easy_ fix. Maybe he should just spend Friday surveying lab two, then take the weekend to figure out which one he'd need to prioritise and give each of them a week to light a fire under their pathetic arses. Ugh, he did _not_ want to waste the rest of his leave dealing with this shit, but it looked like he was going to. 

"There's got to be rules against this fuckery," he complained to his lunch; he was going to make Grumman pay for this _so_ bad. Right as soon as he figured out how. (Maybe he could ask Chris. She seemed to have some sort of history with the bastard, and Ed could probably win her to his side by complaining about how he was on _leave_ , dammit. And, anyway, after two days of this, he was probably going to need the drink.) 

He'd brought his borrowed lab coat out of the building with him, so the soldier on duty at the gate – different from that morning – let him pass with barely a glance. And it wasn't really like Ed cared about military security – fuck knew he'd used the holes he'd found to get into all sorts of trouble, like sneaking into the unguarded personnel room after everyone had gone home for the night – but given how unstable some arrays could be, and the fact that this stupid mess was pretty much guaranteed to become his problem, he sighed and turned around before he reached the door into the lab, walking back to the soldier, who didn't even cast him a glance that time, too busy picking at a loose string on his uniform. 

Ed was out here on his leave, because of stupid fucking Grumman, and this lazy fuck was fussing with his uniform. 

"Corporal!" he barked in his best commander voice, the one that never worked on his team and had only ever worked about a third of the time on his squad. 

The man came to attention, automatically saluting as he turned to Ed's direction. Of course, as soon as he realised the only person standing there was an unimpressed blond teenager wearing a lab coat, he relaxed, his mouth turning down into a frown. "Not funny, kid." 

Ed raised an eyebrow at him. "What's not funny, Corporal, was you letting me in without anything more than a glance because I _happened_ to be wearing a white coat." 

The soldier rolled his eyes. "Fine, you've had your fun. Go home." Then he turned away, muttering, "Kids." 

"This _kid_ ," Ed said, way beyond irritated, now, "is Lieutenant Colonel Elric." The corporal stiffened, slowly turning to look back at Ed, who yanked out his pocket watch as proof of who he was, setting the keys jingling angrily. "And you, Corporal," he continued as the man quickly saluted him, his eyes following Ed's watch as he shoved it away, " _should_ be asking everyone who passes for proof that they belong here, not just fucking checking that they're wearing a lab coat. This is not a fucking free-for-all, and if some civilian or curious soldier gets hurt because you're too busy picking at your uniform, I'll hand you over to lab two next time they need a human subject." Okay, no he wouldn't, but it was the first thing that popped to mind that wouldn't require Ed hunting down the man's CO and fucking around with military politics in the middle of his damn leave. 

The corporal had turned nearly as white as Ed's coat and was nodding rapidly. "Yes, sir," he got out in a rush. "It won't happen again, sir." 

"You'd best hope not," Ed shot back, before turning and stalking back towards the building. Which, well, he didn't really feel any less pissed off, but at least he'd blown off some steam? Sort of? (Okay, not even a little bit. Dammit.) 

He made his way back inside and went back to wandering, letting himself get distracted by a debate three alchemists were having about whether or not adding colours to the weapons they made was a useless waste of energy. He was fairly certain one of them was Max Magnus Norman, the Colourway Alchemist, who, according to both his personnel file and the information Grumman had handed over, had a peculiar habit of adding colour to...everything. (Ed was kind of impressed that the building was still the boring military grey, though he suspected someone had talked to Colourway about that before he was let inside.) 

Peculiar habit or no, he managed to make some excellent points about colouring alchemically enhanced weapons being a good way to keep them from getting mixed in with the normal weapons, however... "You're forgetting one important point," he said, stepping around the doorway he'd been lurking behind, and all three of them jumped. "Approximately four percent of the military has some form of colour-blindness, including members of the Armoury staff. If you add colours to things, especially weapons – which, actually, not a terrible plan – you're going to want to work in patterns and use contrasting shades." 

"...who are you?" one of the two researchers asked, looking more confused than upset about being interrupted by someone who looked a little too young to be running around unaccompanied in a military lab. 

Ed shrugged and smiled. "Me? Nobody." 

Colourway – getting a good look at him, Ed was certain it was him, between his multi-coloured hair and the bizarre patterns and colours of his clothing under his white lab coat, which looked oddly out of place with everything else – scoffed. "Nobody?" He gave Ed a considering glance. "I think I preferred your old coat. Good colour." 

Ed felt his grin widen; somehow, he'd had a feeling he'd like Colourway. "My team told me it made me too much of a target," he offered a bit helplessly. "I do miss it sometimes, but people shoot at me less often when I wear neutral colours." 

"Sad," Colourway decided, sounding like he meant it, before turning to the researchers, both of whom were looking between them in confusion. "This is the Fullmetal Alchemist." 

Recognition dawned and Ed very quickly found himself getting drawn into the argument, which turned into more of a debate about what colours and patterns would be best for weapons, rather than whether or not the colouring was worth it. It was actually kind of nice, getting the chance to argue about something so mundane. He also ended up picking up a few new arrays: one for polka dots, one for starburst patterns, and one for pulling hints of colours from minerals and pockets of gases, so the staffs and knives he liked to transmute at a moment's notice from the ground would be a 'little less bland'. (Ed could get behind that, if only for the potential expression on an opponent's face when he transmuted a fluorescent pink staff and whapped them over the head with it.) 

"So," Colourway said as they left the two researchers to their work, "what brings the military's resident terrorist-chaser to Lab Three? Surely not the need to create beautifully coloured weaponry." 

Ed snorted. "If you think anything 'beautifully coloured' is gonna get accepted by the Armoury, you're completely barmy." 

Colourway nodded, his expression turning slightly distracted. "Yes. I suspect my brothers would agree with you there." 

Ed peered into a room they were passing, only to find it empty. "Führer wants to get the labs up to scruff, and since I happen to be in Central for a bit..." He shrugged, then added " _Not_ chasing terrorists, mind you." 

Colourway smiled at that. "Oh, good. I should hate to think someone's running around in here thinking to blow people up." He frowned slightly. "Although, now that I consider it..." 

"Lab full of alchemists who are designing weapons for the military?" 

"Yes, that," Colourway agreed, before casting Ed a considering look. "You stand out far less than the large bald man that came through a few months ago," he decided. "He made a nuisance of himself and was so very obviously military. Some of the researchers hid their work when they heard him coming." 

Ed was beginning to suspect that Colourway – who was described as both easily distracted and extremely absent-minded – wasn't actually either one, because he'd been the only person so far to recognise Ed on sight, and his comments just then... 

Well, it was hardly the first time Ed had come across a State Alchemist who put on a front so people would underestimate them, and he doubted it would be the last. Fuck, he sometimes caught himself playing up his age or his well-known temper just because it made people underestimate him. 

"Yes," he said to Colourway, nodding a bit absently to someone passing them going the other way, "Major Armstrong is a little hard to miss. It serves him well as a soldier, but for this..." He shrugged. 

Colourway stopped walking and craned his head back to stare at the ceiling, his eyes very focussed on a particular tile. 

When Ed stopped next to him and glanced up at the tile, he was surprised to see a tiny starburst on it, close enough in shade to the rest of the hallway that you wouldn't notice it at a quick glance. And on the tiles around it, too. "Are those–" he heard himself asking quietly. 

"Not my doing," Colourway admitted, looking back over at Ed with a smile. "Just one of the surprises these labs hide." 

Ed narrowed his eyes at the man; definitely not absent-minded. "Should I ask what the exchange rate is for 'surprises' around here?" 

Colourway's smile widened. "It would be nice to be allowed to paint my lab space." 

"I'll consider it." 

Colourway opened his mouth to continue, but snapped it shut as the building trembled slightly. They traded confused looks, and he said, "Earthquake?" 

But Ed could taste it now, that hint of a zing that the air acquired when a transmutation was activated nearby, and he turned and hurried after the taste as the building trembled again. 

Finding the room was easy – the blue light of an active array was glowing out of the open door – and he shouted, "End that transmutation before I stop it for you!" as he rushed through the doorway. 

The two researchers who were kneeling on either side of a large circle painted on the floor both jumped away, disrupting the alchemy, because if Ed interrupted the transmutation for them, they'd get hit with the rebound. 

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?!" a heavy-set man demanded as he stood from where he'd been watching from one of the lab tables on the far side of the room. Johann Schweitzer, the Iron-Form Alchemist, Ed recognised from his personnel photo. 

"I could ask the same of you," he shot back as he reached the edge of the array and looked it over. It was a mid-level array, designed to pull iron from the surroundings to create weapons – Iron-Form's speciality – and easily able to be controlled by multiple alchemists without having them fight each other and cause a rebound. They'd brought in iron from the shop on the ground floor to act as materials, but the array was designed to pull from the closest source, first, and since it was drawn on the ground... "You were about to bring the fucking building down on our heads!" 

"What?" one of the researchers asked, looking horrified. "But it's not supposed to do that!" 

"It's designed to use _iron_ , boy, not _concrete_ ," Iron-Form added, pointing at the concrete at their feet. 

Ed closed his eyes, a lot less hopeful about letting Iron-Form run _anything_ now. "Would someone please tell me what is supporting the concrete?" When none of them seemed to have a response to that, he suggested, "Steel beams, perhaps?" 

"Oh," one of the researchers said, while the other whispered, "Shit." 

Iron-Form scoffed. "There is sufficient iron here for it not to affect the building," he insisted, waving at the stacked iron around them. 

"Except your little experiment _was_ , Johann," Colourway called from behind Ed, by the doorway, and when Ed glanced back, he found the State Alchemist wasn't the only person standing there, though he was the only one who looked anything approaching calm. 

"The building was shaking," one of the men standing with Colourway added, looking honestly freaked out. 

Ed huffed and pointed to a specific spot on the array on the ground. "You're telling it to pull iron from the nearest source and then placing it on the _floor_ , moron," he said, and Iron-Form turned a glare on him. Before he could respond to the insult, Ed continued, "The concrete's not that thick of a layer, which is why there's very firm rules about using outside materials to do any arrays, rather than just pulling from the floor and replacing it later, so the steel supports are way closer to the array than your little piles of iron." He kicked at the nearest one, which was out of his reach. "And because the support beams are connected throughout the building, you're destabilising the _whole fucking thing_."

Iron-Form looked a bit like he wasn't sure if he was more angry, embarrassed, or freaked out, his skin turning a sort of mottled dark red over pale white. "That– I wasn't–" And then he clearly settled on anger, for he pointed a finger at Ed and snapped, "What the hell do you know? You're probably just one of Max's pet apprentices! Get out of my lab!" 

Oh, yeah, no way Ed was ever going to let Iron-Form have charge of anything. Crossing his arms over his chest and giving the man his best unimpressed stare, he deadpanned, "I'm Lieutenant Colonel Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist." There followed a heavy silence, during which Iron-Form's skin went completely pale. "If I catch you trying another array like this, without the proper limiters or direction markers, while inside the building, I will take your watch and you can find another job. Am I clear?" 

"Yes, sir," Iron-Form agreed, his voice shaking. 

Ed nodded, then clapped his hands together and knelt to change the array, adding a series of limiters to keep from drawing the iron from compound mixtures, like the steel support beams, or Ed's own automail. "There," he said, standing up and stepping back. " _Now_ you can activate it." 

From behind him, he heard someone loudly whisper, "How long did it take Schweitzer to make that array?" 

"Four months," someone else replied, before Iron-Form glared past Ed at the group in the door and they fell completely silent. 

Ed, for his part, just sighed; adding limiters was easy, even with having to restructure a few lines to make them fit in properly and not overload the array, so it really wasn't that impressive a thing for him to have done. And he wasn't in the habit of making new arrays, really, just improving on what others used, so he really couldn't say how long this array would have taken him to create. 

Iron-Form moved off the array and the two researchers stepped forward nervously. They traded uncertain looks, then knelt and, nearly in sync, touched the array. 

The piles of iron quickly vanished, forming two slightly differently shaped canons in the middle of the array. 

"Boring!" Colourway called from where he'd joined Ed while he hadn't been paying attention. "A bit of colour–"

"Get out of my lab, crack-pot," Iron-Form snapped, pointing a shaking finger at Colourway over the canons. 

"A nice red?" Colourway suggested, looking hopefully at Ed. 

"I told you, red is a target," Ed returned, before jerking his head to the doorway. "Come on. At least let them _inspect_ the finished product before you go making additions of your own." 

"I'd only be adding a bit of colour," Colourway insisted as he joined Ed in leaving the lab, and Ed rolled his eyes, while Iron-Form snarled something that was, doubtless, insulting behind them, too low to catch. 

Out in the hallway, one of the researchers, who couldn't have been much older than Ed, asked, "Are you _really_ the Fullmetal Alchemist?" 

"Last I checked," Ed agreed. 

"Jay is going to be so upset he's not here today," the researcher breathed, looking gleeful, and Ed turned a questioning look on Colourway. 

"James Price, the Quicksilver Alchemist," Colourway explained, "has a minor case of hero worship." 

Ed did _not_ groan. Barely. 

The researcher laughed. " _Minor_?" he returned. "No kidding, Maxie, he's practically got a _shrine_ set up." 

Ed gave in and groaned, rubbing at his face. Fuck his life. Fuck Grumman. Fuck _everything_. 

"Does he really?" Colourway enquired, sounding interested. "Is it properly colourful?" 

The researcher rolled his eyes. "Come on, Maxie. No, it's not colourful. You’re the only one who's obsessed with colours around here." 

"How regretful." 

"Nah. What was regretful was the week he spent trying to spell out 'Fullmetal Alchemist' using chemical symbols, and the week after that he spent debating which chemical elements he could rename–"

"Nope," Ed decided, turning away. "Don't want to know, don't care. Leaving." He was going to find a way to avoid Quicksilver if it killed him. 

The researcher just laughed. 

Colourway caught him up before he reached the second set of doorways down from Iron-Form's lab, peeking into one of the doors to see if there was anything interesting going on. (Given the recent upset, it was no surprise that no one had really got back to work.) "Quicksilver," Colourway said, and Ed glanced back to find his eyes gleaming with amusement, "spends more time at lab four than here." 

Ed nodded in understanding. "I'd heard he was a chemist," he admitted, because that had been in both Quicksilver's personnel file and what Grumman had handed over, and Armstrong had mentioned that he never seemed to be in lab three. "Easier to avoid him, I guess." 

Colourway took the opportunity to laugh at Ed while he peered into another room. 

There were three suits of armour in the room, all different from Al's, but they still had Ed stepping inside and walking closer to look them over. 

"Franz Tausend," Colourway offered from the doorway, naming one of the non-certified research alchemists that had been in the paperwork Grumman had handed over. "He says he's looking into ways to make the armour move on its own." 

Ed snorted. "Maybe with some sort of mechanical contraption inside." 

"He suggested linking a living soul." 

Ed shot Colourway a sharp look. "A living soul," he repeated, his tone far too flat, and Colourway gave an uncertain nod. "That's human transmutation." 

"Temporary!" a voice called from behind Colourway, and the State Alchemist shifted out of the way, letting pass a mousy man with glasses that looked far too large for his face. "Let an alchemist who can't fight go into battle, with no harm to themselves." 

Ed crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the newcomer; Franz Tausend, he expected. "Temporary or no, it's still human transmutation, and human transmutation is forbidden." 

The man deflated somewhat. "But, in lab five–"

"I know what they did in lab five," Ed snapped. "It was despicable and beyond inhumane, not to mention forbidden for a fucking _reason_." He motioned towards the armour, watching the researcher for any sign of a lie as he demanded, "Do you know the dangers in performing soul alchemy? Do you know what happens to the mortal body left behind?" 

"N-No," the man admitted, seeming to become even smaller. 

Ed nodded and pointed at the piles of research scattered across the lab table next to the armour. "You have the weekend to destroy any hints of human transmutation; if I see it when I come back, I'm dragging you before the Führer in shackles." Because he'd made his own mistakes with this research, and he wasn't above giving second chances, especially when the person involved looked like they didn't fully understand what they were getting into. 

"Yes, sir," the man agreed, looking very much cowed. 

Ed allowed himself one last glance back at the armour, then stepped past the chastised researcher. 

Before he could reach Colourway, who was watching him with a considering look, the researcher asked, "Fullmetal, sir, can I ask, what _does_ happen to the mortal body?" 

Ed glanced back at him, recalling what he'd heard from Al about Barry's body. "It's left defenceless and, if enough time passes, it will begin to decay. Should something happen to the body, can you imagine what would happen to your soul?" 

The researcher shook his head, his face pale and eyes wide; a clear wish that he'd never asked. 

Ed nodded, then stepped past Colourway and started down the hall again, feeling tired. Fucking Dwarf in the Flask and his twisted experiments. 

"I was under the impression," Colourway said quietly as he fell into step with Ed, his voice unexpectedly focussed, "that all of lab five's files were destroyed when it exploded." 

"Yes," Ed agreed. "They were remarkably thorough when they placed those bombs." 

"...'they'?" 

Ed offered him a smile that felt twisted and wrong. "They," he agreed, before glancing up at the ceiling, picking out the starbursts hidden in the tiles. "There are some surprises, I've discovered, that are best left to the rubble." 

"...I suppose," Colourway allowed, sounding rather like he wasn't certain he agreed. Then he shifted, and when Ed glanced over, he found the man once again returned to the absent-minded, slightly barmy man that he usually appeared. "I wonder," he said, tone distracted, "if it would be considered human transmutation to change the colour of your skin." 

Ed blinked at that and let his head tilt to the side as he gave the idea some consideration. "No more so than medical alchemy, I suspect. I mean, it's only skin-deep, unless you're intending to turn your heart green?" 

Colourway's expression said he hadn't been until then. "Polka dots, maybe? Heart-shape–"

"Just stop," Ed suggested, and Colourway flashed him a too-bright smile. He shook his head. "We're you going to continue showing me around, or should I leave you to your ill-conceived experiments?" 

"Am I showing you around?" 

Ed shrugged. "You may just be serving as a distraction from things no one wants me to see," he allowed, before casting the man a considering look. "But I don't think you are." 

Colourway smiled a bit absently at him as he picked at a loose thread on his lab coat. "I might be," he pointed out. 

Ed shot him a smile with teeth. "If you have something worse in here than a researcher looking into soul alchemy, I don't suppose it matters whether I find it or not, it'll come to light in its own time. A few people might die, but..." He shrugged, feigning a casualness he didn't feel. 

"Not in this lab," Colourway offered way too cheerfully. 

Ed sighed; somehow, he'd known lab two was going to end up being a pain in the arse. 

"But I know a couple other researchers who you can have a pleasant discussion with," Colourway added. 

" _How_ pleasant?" Ed asked as he followed the other man down the hall. 

As it turned out, one was an idiot, and the other served as a nice discussion partner to end the day with, so he didn't get back to the hotel feeling homicidal, which was always a plus. 

-0-

Lab two was, in turns, more and less stressful of an initial walk through. For one, the only State Alchemist loosely attached to lab two was the Blooming Alchemist, who was currently away on assignment in the west, and all of the plant-based research seemed to have ground to a halt without him there. (Ed was going to have to address that, ugh.) Also, no one seemed to recognise him, so he spent his entire visit just snooping around on his own. 

That said, he didn't need a guide to find Giovanni Linden, a chimera researcher who had notes for animal/human hybrids. Upon discerning he was wholly aware of what he was doing and didn't care about the ethics, Ed rang Grumman and had him send a team of MPs to drag the fucker to prison. If Ed had any say in the matter, that researcher would be serving a life sentence. 

Once the guy had been taken, he destroyed all his research, then had a nice long talk with the other three chimera researchers, which boiled down to, "If you have any of his research or your own work is showing signs of leaning towards combining animals and humans, you have the weekend to get rid of it. And if I _ever_ discover that someone in here actually went the final step to creating a human chimera, you'll be stuck in a cell next to Linden." 

But other than that, there wasn't much of note, and Ed was honestly a little worried about what he _hadn't_ found. 

When he got back to the hotel, he flopped down on the bed next to a reading Heinkel, and couldn't quite suppress a pleased noise when the man absently pulled out his hair tie for him, then started scratching his scalp. "Not a cat," he mumbled, even as he leant into the touch. 

Darius scoffed from the table, where he was cleaning his gun. "So, how bad was it?" 

"Some fuck-shit was researching human chimeras," Ed muttered. 

Darius drew in a sharp breath and Heinkel's fingers stilled for a moment, before continuing their soothing motion. "And?" Heinkel asked, his attention clearly pulled from his book. 

"MPs dragged him off and I destroyed his research." 

"There's probably some at his home," Darius pointed out. 

Ed lifted his head to shoot him a considering look. "Probably," he agreed. "How's your side?" 

Darius' smile was all teeth. "Don't expect any acrobatics." 

Ed nodded and reluctantly sat up, away from Heinkel's scratching. "So, dinner out, a quick wander past Command so I can check a couple files, some liberal destruction of property, then Madame Christmas?" 

"No alcohol," Heinkel added, shooting a hard look at Darius. 

"Aw, come on. Just one?" 

"The doctor said no mixing alcohol with the pain medication," Heinkel reminded him. 

Ed glanced towards the bottle of pills next to the bed Darius slept in, then raised an eyebrow at the man. When Darius slumped slightly, Ed nodded. "No alcohol, or you're on bedrest for the weekend." 

Since Ed had made plans to take Elicia to the circus that had set up outside the city that weekend, and said Darius and Heinkel could both come if Darius promised to take it easy, weekend bedrest was a pretty good threat. 

Darius slumped as much as he could manage with his side and nodded. "Yes, sir." 

"Right!" Ed grabbed his hair tie from where Heinkel had dropped it and jumped off the bed. "You arseholes ready? I'm starved." 

"And that's new how?" Darius returned as he carefully stood. 

Heinkel sighed at them as he set his book aside and got out of bed, and Ed and Darius traded grins. 

It was good to be getting out of the hotel room for the night, especially with the promise of a bit of destruction and some possible dirt he could shove in Grumman's face ahead of them. 

-0-

Between the destruction of all of the human chimera researcher's private notes, getting some amusing blackmail stories out of Chris, and going to the circus with Elicia and his team (which involved so many animal training jokes, both of the chimeras looked ready to kill him and Elicia by the end of the day), Ed was in a much better mood to face down the labs, come Monday. Since he'd got confirmation that Blooming wouldn't be back until the end of the week, and it was only fair that he was there when Ed started going through his research, he decided to tackle lab three first. 

Since all Grumman had requested was a report, Ed dropped by Command first thing on Monday and dropped the report he'd written up the night before on his desk. "Don't fuck with me," he suggested as Grumman picked it up. "Next time you want me to fix this shit, just say it straight up." 

Grumman offered him a mild smile. "I wouldn't do that while you're on leave." 

Ed crossed his arms over his chest and glared. "The fuck'd I just say, you smug-faced shit-for-brains?" 

Out in the front office, someone gasped and something hit the floor with a hollow thump. 

Grumman gave him a flat look. "Lieutenant Colonel." 

Ed sighed. "Seriously. You don't need a report, you need someone riding herd on those idiots." 

Grumman took a long moment to glance through Ed's report – he suspected it was punishment for his insult, and responded by flopping back into one of the rather uncomfortable couches that he'd thus far avoided, which he scowled at – then said, "Are you requesting to be put in charge of the labs?" 

Ed snorted. "Oh, the brass would _love_ that, you putting a lieutenant colonel in charge of two labs. Since you're avoiding getting the extra work–" he shrugged and shot the bastard a sharp smile "–I guess you'll just have to make it Mustang's job." 

"Hm." Grumman sat down the report and picked up the phone with one hand, dialling with the other. "This is Führer Grumman," he said after a moment. "Please find Brigadier General Mustang for me." 

Ed shifted on the couch and shot it another scowl. "Can I fix your couch?" he asked, because he suspected performing unsanctioned alchemy in Grumman's office would be a lot less mildly received than calling the Führer 'shit-for-brains'. (And he needed to pass that one on to Darius next time Heinkel was out, because he'd love it. He'd also make comments about Ed's self-preservation, but he'd enjoy the fact that he got away with it.) 

"No. They aren't there for your comfort." 

"No one likes you," Ed informed him, and someone out in the front office muffled what sounded suspiciously like a snicker. 

Grumman picked his report back up and looked at it, a very obvious 'I'm ignoring you', and Ed grinned. 

"Brigadier General," Grumman suddenly said, setting Ed's report back down. "Lieutenant Colonel Elric seems to think you should be put in charge of the alchemy labs here in Central." He was quiet for a moment, before his eyes flicked towards Ed. "He's aware." 

Ed frowned, could almost understand the urge to tap lines right then. 

"So he is," Grumman said next, a clear agreement, before falling silent, expression patient, as though he was just waiting for Mustang to give in to the inevitable. 

And, ugh, Ed hated that expression, hated fucking Grumman and his certainty that he had them right where he wanted them. (Even if Ed was kind of doing the same thing, getting Mustang's name put on this, rather than his. Banking on the fact that Mustang knew, as well as he did, that the rest of the brass would give them all hell if Ed got officially put in charge; the military rank system was such a pain in the arse.) 

Grumman laughed and Ed couldn't keep from grinding his teeth together as the bastard turned an amused smirk on him. "I'll be sure to pass that on to him." 

Seriously. Ed was going to punch him. 

"I will," Grumman said, before his expression turned thoughtful. "Ah, that reminds me, Major Armstrong is technically in charge of lab inspections right now. Shall I have him start formally reporting to you?" He glanced towards Ed again at whatever Mustang said. "Of course." Another pause. "It is. Thank you, Brigadier General." Then he hung up and turned to focus on Ed. "Brigadier General Mustang requests that you send copies of future reports to him; I will see to forwarding this one." 

"Yeah, fine." 

"And he expects to hear from you some time today." 

Ed blinked at that, vaguely surprised. Which he...really shouldn't have been. Actually, he probably should have rung Mustang first, but it hadn't really occurred to him until last night that he should just make all of this official so no one could go bitching at him about how he didn't have the authority to order them around. (Not that he expected any of them would – his second name carried a lot of weight, and his rank did a fair bit itself – but there was always one fucker who decided they didn't want a kid mucking in their affairs.) 

"...right," he said, once it became clear that Grumman expected a response. 

Grumman nodded. "Please see Major Armstrong on your way back to the labs; he'll be reporting any future investigations he conducts to you." 

Ed sighed and stood. "Yes, sir." Then he turned to leave. 

As he reached the door, Grumman called, "And Lieutenant Colonel?" 

"Yeah?" 

"You're no longer on leave." 

Ed turned and glared at him. "The fuck–"

" 'Shit-for-brains'?" 

Okay, so he wasn't getting away with that one. But still, that wasn't worth two weeks, was it? 

Who was he kidding? Grumman was just using that as a handy excuse to put Ed back on the roster, so he didn't get any heat for giving Ed work while he was on leave. 

"Yes, sir," he ground out, before storming from the office and slamming the door behind him. 

"Lieutenant Colonel," Days said with a sigh, clearly resigning herself to Ed's usual manner. Which was good, as often as he was coming to see their fucking Führer every time he made a stop in Central. 

"He deserved it," Ed muttered, not caring that he sounded petulant, and stalked from the office before she could get it in mind to try reprimanding him. 

With a sigh of his own, he turned towards Intelligence. At least it was never hard to find Armstrong, and Sheska had promised to see if she couldn't find any new language resources for him the last time they'd spoken, so he had that to look forward to.

.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who read _From the Worst of Times_ may remember the Blooming Alchemist to be an Ed fan, but he's gone through some edits since that fic, so he no longer is. (That's now Quicksilver. XD) Same name – real and State Alchemist title – same specialisation, different personality.
> 
> Also, I have...no idea where this chapter went. I did not plan the madness at the end.

Somehow, Ed ended up returning to lab three with Armstrong in tow. Which, well, he was already stuck in uniform for the day, so he was going to stand out no matter what he did, but Armstrong was just _so_ obvious. Sig and Darius, both of them could stand quietly out of the way and you'd overlook them, but Armstrong you noticed. No matter what he did, you noticed him. 

Which Ed would have expected to be a problem, except he hadn't really counted on the fact that _everyone saw Armstrong_. They completely overlooked Ed _because_ they were focussed on Armstrong. He probably could have walked through the city in his old red coat and people _still_ wouldn't have noticed him. 

"Well, then," he said as the front gate of the lab came into view. 

Armstrong glanced down at him. "Sir?" he asked, because no amount of pleading on Ed's part would get Armstrong to keep from referring to him as either his rank, or the full-on 'Edward Elric', and Ed was slightly less put off by his rank, as often as Grumman and other soldiers used it, but that meant he got 'sir'ed. 

Military sorts. Ugh. 

"Nothing, Major," he offered. "Passing thought." Because Armstrong was a lot cleverer than most people realised, as emotive as he was, and Ed wouldn't be surprised if he'd developed the ability to draw attention to himself on purpose, as a way to draw the attention away from anyone with him. 

The unfamiliar corporal at the gate came to attention and saluted as they approached. "Major Armstrong," he recognised first, before seeming to notice Ed for the first time. "Lieutenant Colonel, sir!" 

Ed sighed, resigning himself to putting up with 'sir's all day. "At ease, Corporal," he requested, and the man relaxed. Ed tilted his head to one side, glancing between Armstrong and the corporal as a thought occurred to him. "Is there a way to quickly gather all the members of the lab in one place?" 

"The fire alarm, sir," the corporal suggested so quickly, Ed suspected they'd had to resort to that before to get scientists out of one of the labs. 

"Preferably without setting off the sprinkler system and endangering research notes," Ed returned a bit drily, and the corporal ducked his head. "Though I'll keep that in mind for next time Iron-Form decides to try bringing the building down on our heads." 

The look Armstrong sent him made it clear he really, _really_ wanted to ask about that, but was being held back by his military training. 

"There's a loudspeaker in the guardhouse, which you could use in the hallways?" the corporal offered. "Not everyone listens to it, but it gets most of them." 

Ed raised an eyebrow at that; he bet he could get everyone to listen to it. "If I might borrow that, Corporal?" 

"Let me get it for you, sir," the corporal agreed, and slipped quickly into and back out of the guardhouse next to him, carrying a loudspeaker in one hand, which he offered to Ed. "Just return it before you leave for the day, please." 

"Certainly," Ed agreed, before leading the way through the gate. "Shop room, or front lawn?" he asked Armstrong. 

The large man considered that for a moment. "For the sake of keeping military matters inside the military, I would suggest the shop." 

"Hm." 

Once they were inside, Ed found the nearest sprinkler access at his level and used a bit of alchemy to turn it into a temporary sound system with the loudspeaker, then said into the receiver, "Anyone not in the ground floor shop in ten minutes is fired, by order of Führer Grumman. I repeat: Anyone not in the ground floor shop in ten minutes will be fired." 

Behind him, Armstrong chuckled appreciatively. 

Ed quickly returned the sprinkler system and loudspeaker back to their normal selves, then joined the first trickle of researchers and lab assistants on their way into the shop. He settled on a 'head' of the room, then used some of the freestanding materials to transmute himself a dais to stand on, so more people could see him – the people who were a normal height, as opposed to all the ridiculous giants that seemed to make up a good portion of any crowd. 

Armstrong, standing back by the doors, nodded to him before the ten minutes were up, signalling that everyone was in the room, and started closing the doors. 

Ed let out a whistle and the room quieted. Before he could start talking, however, someone called, " _Some_ of us were in the middle of important research, not that I expect you military sort to understand the necessity," heedless of a few people trying to shush him. 

Ed raised an eyebrow in the general direction of the voice, unable to actually see the speaker. "You're welcome to continue your 'important research' at a non-military facility, if this is such an imposition." 

No one responded to that, and Ed suspected the speaker's neighbours had managed to shut him up. 

He nodded. "For those of you who missed me last week, I'm Lieutenant Colonel Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist." He paused to wait out the whispers that went around the room, and couldn't help but notice that way more people seemed to be paying attention now he'd introduced himself. "Brigadier General Mustang and Führer Grumman have given me the authorisation to, let's say, 'clean house'. That means I'm going to be spending this week pissing the ever-loving fuck out of most of you, because I am going to go through your research and tell you why you're a pile of fucking idiots with zero creativity. And then I'm going to tell you what you can start working on, rather than continuing to waste the military's time and money on your little pet projects. If you can't handle that, Major Armstrong–" he motioned towards the doors and the man standing by them "–is happy to walk you to your lab so you can gather your personal belongings and leave." 

No one moved, though there was some shifting and uncertain glances exchanged. 

"Awesome." Ed flashed his brightest grin. "I'll make it around to everyone sometime this week. If I haven't got to you yet, feel free to continue with your personal projects, but once I'm in your lab, everything stops, and once I've left, I can pretty much guarantee you're going to have something new to be working on. And if you're not in your lab when I show up..." He shrugged. "Well, let's just say, probably best to stay in your labs, hm?" 

"What if we're at lunch, or in the loo when you come by?" someone called. 

Ed shrugged. "If you're eating lunch during the designated lunch break, that's not going to be a problem. As for the loo...if you're the only one in your lab, leave a note and I'll give you five minutes to get back before I get started." 

Someone shoved their way to the front of the crowd and Ed found himself being glared at by Iron-Form. "Since when have you had the authorisation to come in here and–"

"This morning," Ed interrupted, narrowing his eyes, "Brigadier General Mustang took over command of labs two and three. Since he's managing things down in Ishval, he ordered me to see to the changes the Führer wants implemented." 

"That still doesn't give you the right to come barging in here and–"

"Either give me your fucking watch or shut up, Schweitzer," Ed snapped, purposefully using the man's real name, rather than his State Alchemist title. "You got issue with how I do things, you're welcome to ring up Ishval and bitch to Mustang. I, for one, would be interested to see if he can actually flambé someone through a telephone line." He couldn't – Ed knew enough about his alchemy to know it was impossible – but it was a lovely mental image. 

Iron-Form snapped his mouth shut and attempted to vanish back into the crowd, only for them to, very obviously, shuffle away from him. 

Ed smiled and shouted, "Dismissed!" before jumping down and, very obviously, clapping his hands together and returning the dais to its original elements. Just in case anyone thought he was lying about who he was. (There was something to be said for being the only person widely known for being able to do alchemy by clapping his hands together. Which, well, that might well change once Mustang finished up in Ishval, but he'd never done much alchemy, anyway, and he didn't need to clap if he kept wearing his array on his gloves, so perhaps not.) 

"Well," said Colourway, announcing his approach, and Ed turned to smile at him, "speaking of lighting fires." 

Ed snorted. "Hi, Max," he replied, because they'd parted ways on a first name basis on Thursday. "Anything interesting happen over the weekend?" 

"A most stunning sunset," Colourway agreed, nodding. "It was Saturday night. Did you see it?" 

Since the sun had set while they were in the circus tent, Ed shook his head. "I'm afraid not." 

Colourway let out a mournful sigh. "Perhaps I'll paint my lab those colours, and you might see it that way?" he suggested, and Ed knew he was fishing for the permission that Ed, really, didn't have the authority to give him, but he was pretty sure he could swing it with Mustang, and Grumman would just have to fucking _deal_.

So he said, "Maybe you should." 

Colourway's delighted expression reminded him so much of Elicia when she got a present, Ed almost wanted to hug him. Which was _weird_.

"Magnus?" a dour voice said, and Colourway stepped to the side to reveal a dark-skinned man who looked somewhere between embarrassed and awestruck. 

Colourway's smile shifted into something far more likely to make Ed want to punch something. "Ed, this is James Price, the Quicksilver Alchemist. Jay, the Fullmetal Alchemist." 

"Oh," Quicksilver said, before slouching slightly. "I– Sorry. He– Ah, H-honour to meet you, sir." 

Ed bit back a sigh. "I don't answer to 'sir' unless you're wearing a military uniform or recently pissed me off. Should I be pissed off?" 

"N-no, si–ah." Quicksilver turned a wide-eyed look on Colourway, who looked way too fucking amused. 

" 'Ed' is sufficient," Ed offered drily, and Quicksilver looked vaguely panicked. "Or 'Fullmetal', if you must." 

"Fullmetal," Quicksilver settled on, sounding relieved. "Yes, I can–" He stopped, blinking at Ed a few times as he straightened, ending up about an inch taller than Ed. "You are very young." 

Ed sighed. "Really," he returned, his tone flat. "I hadn't noticed." 

Quicksilver blinked again. "How young?" 

Ed turned to Colourway, who replied with an absent smile; he was going to be no help, so Ed turned back to Quicksilver and honestly answered, "Seventeen." 

Quicksilver stared at him for a moment, his eyes going so wide, Ed half expected his eyeballs to fall out. "Oh," he said at last. "Oh." And then he turned and hurried away. 

Ed stared after him until he'd left the shop, then turned to Colourway, raising both eyebrows. "The fuck just happened?" he demanded. 

Colourway was still wearing that absent smile, but his eyes were glinting tellingly. "I don't think he knows what to do with a genius younger than himself," he offered, his tone careless. 

Ed closed his eyes and dragged a hand down his face. "Awesome," he muttered, not really sure what to do with that. "Is he likely to vanish back to lab four?" 

"Later this week. He usually spends a day here for every week at lab four, and it's been almost three weeks." 

Ed sighed and started walking towards where Armstrong was still waiting by the doors, not quite managing to become unnoticeable, but coming closer than Ed had ever seen. "Let's hope he holds to the pattern, then," he said of Quicksilver, "and give him a day to calm down." 

Kindly, Colourway didn't laugh at his optimism. 

-0-

Quicksilver didn't calm down, but he was also one of the few people in the lab who didn't try arguing with Ed when he told them to scrap their old projects and start working on something new. And Ed had to tell pretty much _everyone_ to change their focus, because they were all very weapons oriented. 

Quicksilver, at least, could use his chemical knowledge to create alchemically enhanced defensive mixtures, and he reminded Ed so very much of Den when he hunted Ed down on Friday with his first few creations, so clearly desperate for approval. His work was clever, so Ed did give his approval, much to Quicksilver's unending glee. He also had some suggestions and one minor correction, which helped keep the other State Alchemist from bouncing back down the hall to his lab – Ed really wouldn't have put it past him – but, all things considered, it was a good start. 

Ed didn't tell his team about Quicksilver – he knew Darius would spend the next few months bringing it up at inopportune moments if he did – and he didn't mention him to Elicia simply because she'd end up telling Darius. He did, however, when Mustang came to the phone Monday evening, open with, "Roy, I have an admirer and it's creeping me out." 

Mustang was quiet for a moment, before repeating, somewhat disbelievingly, _"You have an admirer."_

"One of the State Alchemists, Quicksilver. Apparently, he's got a shrine to me set up in his lab and I really don't want to go in there." 

A strange, slightly muffled noise came through the line. 

"Are you fucking _laughing at me_?" Ed demanded, trying not to grin, because he was discovering that making Mustang unwind enough to laugh was just as rewarding as getting him to lose his temper, and far easier to accomplish. "If I get in there and find fucking hearts around pictures of me, I'm not going to be held responsible for my actions." 

_"Somehow,"_ Mustang said in that tone that said he was carefully moderating his voice, _"your life never gets dull. Perhaps I should have you moved to Ishval for the sheer entertainment value."_

"Ha, fuck you too, bastard. You're going to have to approve Colourway painting his lab, now, because you laughed at me." 

_"I didn't laugh at you,"_ Mustang insisted. 

"You are the absolute worst liar, I hope you realise that." 

Mustang snorted. _"Why does Colourway want to paint his lab?"_

"Because the walls are grey and he says it's depressing." 

_"Ed."_

"Also, he's a thousand times more observant than anyone realises, and I'm all for letting him paint his lab if he'll keep me informed about things like idiots getting the fucking idea into their head that attaching their soul to a suit of armour is a _good_ one." 

_"Ah."_ Mustang cleared his throat, and his tone turned more serious, more Ed's CO than his friend (though there was still a hint of the latter in there, like the line between the two was becoming blurred) as he said, _"I'd wondered what would have you taking on more work during your leave."_

Ed slumped in Chris' chair – he'd borrowed her office for the call, since he'd wanted privacy and a line he could trust – and admitted, "I found a fucker studying up on human chimeras in lab two, and Max – Colourway – the way he said there was shit going on in there, it makes me think there's other stuff, too." 

Mustang sighed. _"Why did you even let Grumman talk you into looking into it in the first place?"_ he requested, because he likely knew, as well as Ed did, that the manipulative bastard wouldn't have put the bone out there without knowing Ed would unbury the pile of crap under it and get dragged into cleaning up the mess. (Okay, that was a shitty metaphor, but still.) 

Ed closed his eyes and rubbed at them, feeling all the strain from dealing with Darius' injuries all over again. "I needed space from Darius. He was– He's not a good patient. And Heinkel, he's kind of grouchy that I learn stuff faster than him." 

_"Stuff,"_ Mustang repeated drily. 

**"I pick up Cretan in not week,"** Ed replied, knowing his grammar was terrible, but it wasn't like Mustang–

_**"I picked up Cretan in less than a week,"**_ Mustang corrected. 

Ed pulled the handset away from his ear so he could stare at it for a moment in disbelief, then brought it back to complain, "You've been fucking holding out on me, you bastard!" 

Mustang laughed, the sound so honest, it soothed Ed's irritation. _"The madam might still have my old materials, if you want to ask her about them."_

"How many other languages do you know?" Ed demanded, trying really hard to sound pissed off, rather than amused and grateful for the offer. 

Mustang snorted. _"That's it. I know a handful of Drachman, which the Stardust Alchemist taught me in Ishval, and I have very vague memories of my mother speaking to me in what I suspect is Xingan, but I don't understand any of it. The madam insisted I pick up another language as a child, and I picked Cretan, since things were heating up along the border. Not that it's been particularly useful in the east."_

"You could have requested a placement in the west," Ed pointed out. "Bradley would have done it, soon as he realised you knew Cretan." 

_"Half the point in learning another language was so people didn't realise I could understand them, Ed."_

Ed rolled his eyes. "I keep forgetting your aunt is this master spy. I don't know how, but I do." 

Mustang snorted again, then said, more seriously, _"You let Grumman talk you into working over your leave because your team was driving you insane."_

"And I ran out of language resources," Ed added. 

Mustang sighed. 

"I was _bored_ , okay? It was stupid and I knew better, but I fell for it anyway. And both of those labs are a fucking mess and Iron-Form almost brought the building down around us because he's a self-important _idiot_ , so I'm glad I gave in when I did, and–"

_"Ed,"_ Mustang interrupted, and Ed shut up, realising he was rambling. _"He does it to me, too."_

That was...strangely reassuring, and Ed slumped in his chair, letting his eyes fall shut again. "We could design some sort of accident for him?" he suggested. 

_"Fullmetal,"_ Mustang returned, sounding unimpressed. 

Ed felt himself smile. "You're no fun." 

_"I'm also far too many ranks and a long day's travel from being able to claim his seat."_

"Well, get promoted faster, then!" 

_"That's not how it works."_

Ed snorted. "You're talking to a seventeen-year-old lieutenant colonel, bastard." 

_"You're welcome to have a go at the Führership before me, if you're so certain of yourself."_

"Oh, go fuck yourself," Ed retorted. "No one in their right mind would want me leading this country." 

_"Yes, you'd end up insulting half the country on your first day in office, and they'd have to rebuild Central Command again by the end of your first week."_

"Seriously, fuck off." 

Mustang laughed at him. 

"No one likes you," Ed insisted, knew he was grinning and didn't fucking care. _Fuck_. Trust Mustang to cheer him up by making fun of him. 

_"How's your team?"_ Mustang asked, amusement still obvious in his voice. 

Ed shrugged. "Okay. Better, other than the driving me insane thing. Heinkel's all healed, and Darius is pretty good. It's his side that's holding him up, but we all took Elicia to the circus this weekend and he managed fine. Figure he should be good enough to go around town, making me wish he was still on bedrest, by the end of the week." Actually, more likely, he'd celebrate his recovery by fucking both Ed and Heinkel, which he'd been threatening pretty much since they took him off the better pain medication, and neither of them had quite had the heart to refuse him while he was stuck in a hospital bed, which had really been akin to agreeing that it would happen. 

Mustang snorted at that. _"Somehow, it never occurred to me to wish a subordinate that's as troublesome as you are on you."_

Ed rolled his eyes. "You'd think so, except when there's trouble to be making, there two of us getting into it, so Heinkel's the one who's stuck with us." 

_"Ah, good point. Perhaps I was just never able to imagine you with a sense of responsibility."_

"I actively hate you right now," Ed informed him. "I hope you realise that you suck. Seriously, hugely, majorly suck." 

_"So does your Cretan, so we're even,"_ Mustang retorted. 

Ed surprised himself by laughing. "That was terrible, Roy," he informed the bastard, his name coming way too easily, sounding way too fond. And, _fuck_ , talking to Mustang should not be this easy. 

_"A little bit,"_ Mustang admitted, somehow managing to sound completely unashamed. 

Ed shook his head, unable to keep in a snicker. 

Mustang waited until Ed had calmed down before saying, _"Kain wanted to know if you'd lost your leave."_

Ed knew Mustang was probably wondering the same, and he sighed as he admitted, "Yeah. And I probably won't get it back." 

_"What happened?"_

"I called Grumman a 'shit-for-brains'." 

Mustang was absolutely silent. 

"Are you speechless?" Ed had to ask. "Did I finally do something so absolutely unbelievable, I've actually robbed the great Roy Mustang of his words?" 

_"...yes,"_ Mustang finally managed, before letting out a heavy sigh. _"Am I going to regret asking what possessed you?"_

"He was being deliberately obtuse." 

Mustang sighed again. _"He does that because he–"_

"Knows it gets to me," Ed finished for him, disgruntled. "I _know_ that. I know you always comment on my height for the same reason, because you're both manipulative bastards. But _knowing_ doesn't–"

_"You have a **small** temper problem,"_ Mustang suggested drily. 

"Fuck you!" 

_"I rest my case."_

Ed clenched his jaw and ground out, "If you're going to fucking lecture me, I'm hanging up." 

_"I'm done,"_ Mustang promised, and Ed snorted in disgust. _"Tell me about the State Alchemists."_

"Do you know any of them?" Ed asked somewhat grudgingly. 

_"I know **of** Colourway and Iron-Form, but I've never had much to do with either of them, and I know Quicksilver was our first State Alchemist post-Bradley, but since I was already in Ishval by then..."_

"Huh," Ed said. Now that Mustang mentioned it, he _did_ remember thinking that Quicksilver was a fairly new hire, when he'd gone snooping through the personnel files. He shook his head and filled the bastard in on the other State Alchemists, sharing what little he'd heard about Blooming from Colourway and while in lab two. Which turned into a discussion of projects they could give to researchers in both labs, especially given Amestris didn't really have the necessary knowledge to really tackle medical alchemy. 

By the time Ed hung up, he'd forgiven the bastard for using the 's'-word and just generally felt better about the whole endeavour. And Chris, when Ed asked, had managed to uncover the promised materials for learning Cretan, as well as some books on Aerugonian that Ed hadn't seen before, and he'd complained about how he really should have known to come to her while Chris laughed. 

In all, it had been an awesome evening, and the good feeling it left him with had helped Ed get through the week of beating lab three into shape. 

-0-

After another weekend of Elicia's good humour and Darius' clear pleasure at being declared fit for causing mayhem bolstering him, Ed turned his eyes to lab two. Which, well, was far more complicated because of Amestris' lack of medical alchemy, but he was okay with continuing the plant alchemy half – he knew some of the work they were doing there was helping farms in areas ravaged by war, and some of the research he'd spotted during his initial walk-through suggested they were trying to find a way to get crops to grow up in the mountains, so fewer people would starve if they couldn't get food through the passes before they got snowed in – and he could turn the chimera researchers to looking into healing animals, which they could hopefully translate into healing humans, with enough study and the proper oversight. (Which would mean no human experiments unless Ed was there or, if he could find some way to contact him and talk him into it, Dr Marcoh. And Ed understood why the former State Alchemist had stayed away from the military, after everything, but he would be a lot of help in getting lab two on track.) 

He met Armstrong out front, since they'd ended up agreeing that tackling the labs together meant more eyes and, besides, then Armstrong would know who to keep an eye on while Ed wasn't around. (Ed had been a little uncertain about asking Colonel Hotchkiss if he could steal Armstrong from Intelligence for two weeks, because the man was the exact opposite of Mustang when it came to work ethic, but Armstrong had promised he was a good man and would understand, and he had.) 

Because the uniform had power, Ed had given in and put it on for the day, so both the sergeant guarding the front gate and Armstrong saluted him when they saw him. Ed let out a resigned sigh that made Armstrong sparkle, then requested the loudspeaker he had learnt came standard in the lab guardhouses. 

"I really, _really_ hope I don't have to call the MPs again," Ed muttered as they approached the front door. 

Armstrong sent him an uncertain frown. "Sir?" 

"Human chimeras." 

Armstrong's jaw clenched and he nodded in understanding. 

Ed pulled open the door to the lab, already looking for the nearest sprinkler access, when he noticed something that didn't belong: A girl standing in the middle of the hall, looking somewhere between surprised and delighted, half of her hair braided into a pigtail while the other half hung loose. She couldn't have been much older than Elicia, and Ed automatically reacted to her like he did his not-quite-sister: He crouched down slightly, raised his eyebrows at her, and drily commented, "I hope you're aware your hair's come undone." 

The girl flashed him a bright grin, revealing a missing front tooth, and informed him, "Meggie was trying to fix it, but she pulls super hard." 

"Ah." Ed nodded in understanding, because Al had been forced to braid his hair for him a few times, when he was missing an arm, and the armour meant he couldn't always judge strength. "Would you like me to try?" 

She gave him a considering look, then announced, "I don't have anything to tie it with." 

"I have a spare," Ed promised, because he'd got in the habit of keeping a spare with him in case he broke it by catching a sharp edge of his automail, and never quite got out of the habit. 

She blinked and then, very matter-of-factly, informed him, "Your hair's really pretty." 

Ed had been told that by Elicia enough times that he could manage a "Thank you," even with Armstrong failing to muffle his amusement behind him. Of course, then he tossed over his shoulder, "You can shut up any time now, Major." 

"Sorry, sir," Armstrong offered, not even pretending to sound like he meant it. 

Ed rolled his eyes, then offered a hand to the girl. "I'm Ed, by the way, and this is Alex." 

She grinned at him again. "Mary!" she chirped, giving his hand a vicious shake that Ed couldn't resist a grin at; she really was like Elicia at her most troublesome. "Okay," she decided, "you can do my hair. But _no pulling_."

"No pulling, I promise," Ed agreed, and stood so he could pull his spare tie out of his pocket and hand the loudspeaker off to Armstrong, before leading her out of the way of any foot traffic and kneeling to carefully braid her loose hair. "Why aren't you in school, Miss Mary?" he asked once she was still, assuming she was old enough to be enrolled. 

"Uncle Adam's in town!" she told him happily, and Ed glanced up at Armstrong, who was frowning. "Me and Meggie always get to comes with him to his work when he's just back, 'cause we want to be alchemists just like him!" 

"So your uncle works here?" Ed asked. 

"Yeah! He's a State Alchemist!" 

The only State Alchemist currently attached to lab two was Adam Ripley, the Blooming Alchemist, which answered the question of who had brought children into the lab. 

She looked over her shoulder at Ed. "Are _you_ an alchemist? Uncle Adam says this is a place just for alchemists." 

"I am," Ed agreed as he tied off her braid, and glanced up at Armstrong. "Major–"

"Mary!" a girl's voice shouted down the hall, sounding panicked. 

Mary giggled and ducked her head. 

"Meggie, I presume," Ed said, and Mary giggled again and nodded. He glanced up at Armstrong, who nodded and left to go collect the other girl. "When Alex gets back with Meggie," Ed offered, "would you like to see some alchemy?" 

"Is it with plants?" Mary asked, looking excited. 

"Not this time," Ed admitted. "I need to turn the sprinkler system into a loudspeaker." 

Her eyes went wide. "You can _do_ that?" 

"Would you like to see?" 

"Yeah!" 

Armstrong returned shortly, leading a girl who looked to be a little older than Mary, and was clearly upset. "Mary!" she called when she saw the girl, rushing past Armstrong and raising her fists like she was going to hit the younger girl, who flinched back behind Ed. 

"Hey, now," Ed called, catching her fists. "None of that." 

Meggie turned watery eyes on him, her face screwed up. "She ran away! She always runs away and Daddy's angry and–"

"Hey, hey, whoa. I'm sure your dad's not angry, he's just worried," Ed soothed, letting go of one of Meggie's – Megan, actually, if she was Blooming's daughter – hands so he could wipe at her tears. "Just like you are, right?" 

Megan deflated somewhat and nodded. "Alchemy labs are dangerous, Daddy always says so. That's why we're supposed to _stay in his lab_ ," she finished, turning a glare on Mary. 

Mary, for her part, pressed herself against Ed's side and whispered, "Sorry." 

"Sorry doesn't solve everything," Ed told her, and Mary's expression fell even further. He sighed and shook his head. "Honestly, part of the fault lies with your uncle," he said to Mary, before adding to Megan, "your father." 

Megan immediately shook her head. "Don't get Daddy in trouble!" she pleaded, while Mary insisted, "Uncle Adam's good!" 

"What are alchemy labs?" Ed asked Megan. 

Her mouth quivered and she quietly admitted, "Dangerous." 

Ed nodded and stood. "I think," he offered in the hopes of cheering them up a bit; it was the Blooming Alchemist who he needed to have this discussion with, not his daughter and niece, "I promised some alchemy to Miss Mary." 

The girls traded uncertain looks, but Mary recovered fairly quickly, nodding and putting on a hopeful smile. "Yeah. You said you were gonna make the sprinklers be a loudspeaker." 

Megan perked up at that. "You can _do_ that?" 

Ed shot them a smirk, then held out his hand for the loudspeaker Armstrong was still holding as he approached the nearest sprinkler access. Once Armstrong had handed it over, he clapped his hands together and fused the loudspeaker to the sprinklers. Both girls let out awed noises as they hurried across the hall to get a closer look. 

"That's _amazing_!" Mary insisted. 

"But you didn't use an array," Megan pointed out. 

"I don't need arrays." 

Both girls just sort of stared at him in disbelief, which slowly began to morph into awe. 

"Quiet for a moment," Ed requested, before activating the sound system and announcing, "Anyone not in the ground floor greenhouse in ten minutes is fired, by order of Führer Grumman. I repeat: Anyone not in the ground floor greenhouse in ten minutes will be fired." And then, given the children standing at his sides, added, "Blooming, I have your charges." 

He flicked it off and quickly returned everything to normal. "Right, let's head to the greenhouse, shall we? Your dad and uncle will meet us there." 

"What's 'fired'?" Mary asked, as she and Megan both let themselves be led down the hall to the greenhouse, which was in the same general position in lab two that the materials shop had been in lab three. 

"Not good," Ed offered. 

"Can you teach me how to do alchemy without an array?" Megan asked, looking hopeful. "I'm a good student, Daddy says so." 

"I'm a good student too!" Mary insisted. 

"I'm afraid," Ed replied, "that the ability to transmute without an array isn't something that can be taught. You're both familiar with the concept of equivalent exchange?" 

Both girls nodded and Megan recited, "In order to obtain or create something, something of equal value must be lost or destroyed." 

Ed inclined his head. "To transmute without an array, you have to give up what's most precious to you," he told them seriously, before stopping at what could count as the front of the largest open space in the room. He glanced around, trying to find materials he could use to create something to stand on. 

"What did you give up?" Megan asked, with all the tact of a child. 

Ed offered her a smile that felt old and tired. "I wonder," he replied, before sighing and just using the floor to make himself a little stage. 

"Cool!" Mary declared, immediately jumping on top of it. 

"Mary!" a man shouted from the doors. "Megan!" 

Mary, unsurprisingly, called, "Uncle Adam!" and made to jump off the stage and run towards him. 

Ed caught her before her feet could touch the ground. "Let's stay here and your uncle can come to us, hm?" 

Megan gave a firm nod and grabbed Mary's wrist. "I've got her," she insisted, so Ed set the younger girl down. "Stay. Put," Megan ordered her cousin. 

Mary sighed and slumped. "Okay," she agreed. 

The man who ran up to them looked completely frazzled, his hair in a disarray, like he'd been running his hands through it constantly. " _There_ you are," he said upon seeing the girls, clearly his focus, and knelt down to draw them into a hug. "Don't _worry_ me like that, Mary," he added to his niece. 

"Sorry, Uncle Adam," she said, sounding properly chastised. 

Ed, who regularly dealt with Elicia apologising one minute, then causing trouble the next, didn't believe her for a minute. 

Blooming didn't much look like he believed her, either, but he didn't call her on it as he stood and looked on Ed. His eyes caught on the rank markings on Ed's shoulder and he straightened, trying a salute that was only a little better than Ed's had been before command training. "Lieutenant Colonel, sir! I apologise for my daughter and niece." 

Ed sighed. "We'll discuss that later," he said, and Blooming's expression turned strained. "And for f– Don't salute me," he ordered, stumbling over his usual coarse language, before stepping back up onto his little stage and looking towards the doors, where Armstrong was again standing, observing people coming in. 

"Uncle Adam! Uncle Adam!" Mary called, tugging on Blooming's shirt. 

"Not right now, sweetheart." 

"But, Uncle Adam! Ed can do alchemy without an array! It's _amazing_."

"It's true, Daddy," Megan was quick to add. "He just claps his hands together and transmutes." 

"You're the Fullmetal Alchemist," Blooming realised, clearly shocked. 

"The Fullmetal Alchemist?" Megan whispered, awed. 

"Last I checked," Ed agreed with a smile. 

Mary clutched the pigtail Ed had braided. "The Fullmetal Alchemist braided my hair!" she informed her cousin, looking so freaking gleeful about that. "I'm gonna tell Ricci!" 

"Oh dear," Blooming murmured, while Megan complained, "No _fair_."

From the doors, Armstrong nodded at Ed and firmly closed the doors. 

Ed let out a whistle, drawing everyone's attention, and Blooming quickly shushed his charges. Once the room was silent, Ed called, "I'm Lieutenant Colonel Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist." 

The crowd broke out in whispers, and Ed heard Megan say, "Even the adults are excited, see, Daddy." 

Once they'd fallen silent again, Ed continued, reminding himself to watch his language, "Brigadier General Mustang and Führer Grumman have given me the authorisation to, let's say, 'clean house'. That means I'm going to be spending this week annoying the lot of you, because I'm gonna be going through your research and telling you why you're a waste of military resources. And then I'm going to tell you what you _can_ work on. If you can't handle that, Major Armstrong–" he motioned towards the doors and the man standing by them "–is happy to walk you to your lab so you can gather your personal belongings and leave." 

There was a brief silence following that, before Mary insisted, "He wasn't that mean _before_."

" _Hush_ ," Blooming tried, while a couple people in the crowd muffled what could have been noises of amusement. 

"Fine, whatever," Ed said, rolling his eyes, and someone failed to fully muffle a snicker. Ed glanced in that direction, smirked at the woman who ducked her head, then continued, "I'll make it around to everyone sometime this week. If I haven't got to you yet, feel free to continue with your personal projects, but once I'm in your lab, everything stops, and once I've left, I can pretty much guarantee you're going to have something new to be working on. 

"Trust me, you _want_ to be in your lab when I come around. If you have to step out for the loo and you don't have a partner to watch for you, leave me a note and I'll give you five minutes to sort yourself, then I going to get started. I won't be visiting anyone during the designated lunch break, but I will be in a lab as soon as it's over, so don't dawdle." He glanced over the crowd. "Questions?" 

A few people traded looks, but no one spoke up. 

"Good. Dismissed!" He clapped his hands together and knelt to return his piece of floor to a normal level. But, just as he was reaching out to touch what he was standing on, his eyes caught on the black lines crawling across the floor: An array. Someone was–

" _Get off the array_!" he shouted, letting the internal array he'd just created dissipate, because there was no way he was going to activate any alchemy that close to an unknown array. 

He stumbled backwards, off his platform and out of range of the array bleeding across the floor, heard people shouting in horror and rushing to get out of the way. He stared out over the array as he stood, feeling a lump growing in his stomach as he recognised elements of soul alchemy. 

"Go!" Megan shouted, and Ed turned to see the older girl shove her cousin out of the array just before it completed, sending the younger girl tumbling to the ground just past the outer circle with a pained cry. 

Ed didn't think, just ran into the array and grabbed Megan, getting her off the floor just before the array lit blue, and then bled dark purple. 

And then the world went white and still. 

"Don't look," Ed whispered, pressing a hand to the back of Megan's head, and she let out a terrified whimper, her fingers clutching tight to his jacket. "Close your eyes and don't look." 

"Welcome back, alchemist," that voice said, so very much like his, but dripping with scorn. 

Ed lifted his head and glared at the figure sitting in front of him, wearing his leg and a massive smile. "Let her go," he ordered. "You need a price, you take it from me, but you _let her go_."

Its smile seemed to widen and it pointed with one insubstantial hand towards Ed's left. "We have our price," it said, so fucking smug, and Ed turned to find one of the researchers kneeling in front of another Gate, looking so gleeful, so unaware of the hell he'd just given himself over to. 

He tightened his arms around Megan. "Let us go." 

It spread its arms wide. "You don't want anything?" 

Ed clenched his jaw. "Let. Us–"

"Go," it said, and the Gate behind Ed creaked open. 

The real world burst back into sound around them, Armstrong and Blooming shouting Ed and Megan's names, while other people made their own noises of confused horror. 

"Stay off the array!" he ordered, before anyone else got caught up in the dissipating energy. 

And then, before Ed could move, someone let out a bloodcurdling scream, and he turned to see the researcher who had been on the other side fallen against one edge of the array, blood pooling out around him. The man had lost both legs and one arm, and Ed felt sick, couldn't look away as he watched the man bleed out, screaming in agony the whole time. 

Silence marked the man's death, save for the sound of someone dry heaving, and Ed let out a breath that shuddered the whole way. "Everyone out!" he ordered, before, quieter, telling Megan, "Keep your eyes closed, sweetheart, and I'll get you back to your dad." 

"Okay," she whispered, voice muffled because she'd buried her face against Ed's shoulder. 

Ed turned his back on the grizzly scene and stepped carefully over to where Blooming was holding a sobbing Mary, looking shell-shocked. "Armstrong!" Ed called, and the man hurried over, skirting the edge of the array, looking pale and sick. "Take Megan and help Blooming and the girls up to his lab, then find out who that was and seal his lab until I get up there." 

"Sir?" Armstrong requested, sounding very much like he was only barely holding it together. 

"I will handle this," Ed insisted, before quietly telling the girl in his arms, "Megan, my friend Alex is going to take you, okay? Keep your eyes closed until you're back in your dad's lab." 

"Okay," she whispered, and let herself be handed over. 

"Out," Ed ordered, and watched the other two State Alchemists carry the children out, the door falling shut behind them like a sign of the end. "Fuck," Ed whispered, rubbing his hands over his face and giving himself a moment to just fucking _breathe_.

This was his problem. Even if he hadn't just kicked everyone else out, he was the _only_ State Alchemist with any real experience with soul alchemy, according to what he'd found in everyone's records (and what he'd read between the lines), which made this his area of expertise. And, fuck him, he didn't want to deal with it, but he was the only person who could hope to understand what had happened here, and the last thing he needed was someone else studying the array and trying it again. 

Allowing himself one more fortifying breath, Ed finally turned to look at the mess before him. 

Without the distraction of the array activating and other people being in danger, it didn't take him long to figure out that the array had been intended to turn anyone caught up in it into mindless dolls, of a sort, only following the orders of the alchemist who had activated the array. Except the fuckwit hadn't even begun to touch on the energy requirements necessary to force his own will on other people, so Truth had taken the remaining toll from him, and it had killed him. 

As Ed and Megan had been the only other people in that place, he suspected that meant everyone else had got off in time. And since Ed didn't feel like a mindless doll and Megan had been responding as normally as one could really expect, he was nearly certain the transmutation had failed. (Really, given the connections the fuckwit had been aiming to forge, it would have all fallen apart after he'd died.) Still, he'd suggest Blooming take Megan to a therapist of some sort, and he'd have Heinkel and Darius keep an eye on him. (Which meant they'd want to start coming to the lab with him. Ugh.) 

"Thanks for completely ruining my holiday, you sick fuck," Ed told what was left of the researcher, before clapping his hands together and touching the floor just past the edge of the array, erasing it. With only the body and blood left, he walked out of the greenhouse and to the nearest phone, ringing through to Grumman's office. 

_"Lieutenant Colonel,"_ the bastard said when he picked up, sounding very much like he expected this wasn't good news. 

"Fucker tried human transmutation during my 'I'm here to fuck everything up' speech," Ed said, his voice coming out flat, and he heard Grumman draw in a surprised breath; guess the bastard hadn't expected that. "He's dead, everyone else is fine, but someone needs to come over here and clean him up while I deal with his research." 

_"Lab two?"_ Grumman guessed, before muffling the speaker and calling, _"Days! Call the morgue!"_

"He's in the ground floor greenhouse," Ed agreed. "What's left of him." 

Grumman relayed that to his secretary, then told Ed, _"Bury that research, Lieutenant Colonel."_

"No, sir," Ed returned, voice going hard. "I'll be taking a page out of Scar's book; no one will be finding any hint of this." Then he hung up and stepped outside to warn their gate guard what was going on, before going to hunt down the fucker's lab. 

The researcher, Gerhard Dorn, had somehow found some of the research about the Dwarf in the Flask's mindless dolls. Since he didn't have access to a Philosopher's Stone, he'd decided to just try controlling a living human. His research had been far from ready for a live test – he'd known he didn't have the necessary equivalence for suppressing another person's will, never mind that he'd had no idea he'd be dealing with another alchemist's personal Gate getting in the way on top of that – but Ed suspected he'd seen the way the wind was blowing and figured it was then or never. 

Sometimes, Ed understood the Dwarf in the Flask and the homunculi's disgust with humanity. 

After he'd deconstructed everything, Ed had Armstrong lead him to Blooming's lab. 

"Lieutenant Colonel," Blooming said, when Ed let himself into his lab, looking very much like he'd nearly lost everything. Mary was curled up in his arms, very clearly asleep, while Megan wasn't immediately in view. "Thank you." 

Ed was only vaguely surprised when a small body slammed into his side, and he wrapped an arm around Megan's shoulders. "I don't want to see either of these girls in this lab again," he told Blooming, keeping his tone hard, even as he gently rubbed Megan's back. "If I do, I'm taking your watch and you're done. Am I clear?" 

"Yes, sir," Blooming agreed, and his expression said he wouldn't soon be forgetting the lesson he'd just been taught. 

Ed nodded. "Dorn's research has been destroyed, and the greenhouse cleaned up. Because he was mucking about in soul alchemy and mind control, and she got caught up in the array, I'm going to insist you take Megan to a therapist and keep an eye on her for a few days. She should be fine – by my calculations, Dorn would have failed even if he'd survived – but it's better to be cautious." 

Blooming looked rather like he wanted to be sick. "I'll do that, sir," he promised, his voice shaking. 

"Good. Now, I can let you go home and deal with your research tomorrow, or I can go through everything now and you can take the next few days off." 

Blooming swallowed. "Sir, are you sure you should be–?"

"Today or tomorrow, Major Ripley," Ed interrupted, having already brushed off Armstrong's questions about his health. (At least Armstrong already knew he was a terrible patient and hadn't pushed him to take a break, though he suspected the man would be passing on a full account of events to Grumman as soon as he could.) 

Blooming looked down at where Megan was very determinately clinging to Ed, then nodded. "Today." 

Ed nodded back, then glanced down at Megan, gentling his voice so say, "Megan, sweetheart, I need to be able to walk around, okay?" 

She nodded as she changed her grip slightly. 

Ed sighed and resigned himself to having a child clinging to him while he was going through Blooming's research. 

He'd suffered through worse. 

-0-

Ed let Armstrong drive him back to the hotel that night with only minor grumbling, but he slammed the door in the man's face when he suggested he could walk Ed to his room, then stalked into the hotel on his own. 

That said, as soon as Darius let him into their room, he shrugged off his jacket and climbed into the bed next to Heinkel, curling up at his side. 

"Ed?" they both asked, sounding worried, even as Heinkel pulled out his hair tie and started scratching his scalp, which was what Ed had wanted, so he closed his eyes and relaxed. 

The chimeras were, kindly, quiet for a long while, but Heinkel pulled away before Ed could fall asleep, demanding, "What happened?" 

Ed sighed. "I got caught up in an array. Soul alchemy and mind control." They both drew in sharp breaths and Ed felt the bed dip behind him as Darius sat down. "It was faulty, and the fucker who tried it is dead, but you should probably still keep an eye on me for a while. Smack me if I start acting weird." 

"How faulty?" Darius demanded as his hand came to rest on Ed's hip. "In simple terms." 

Ed couldn't quite stop his mouth from quirking at that. "It never would have worked on an alchemist." 

"But you're still worried," Heinkel pressed. 

Ed shrugged. "Soul alchemy is complicated," he offered, because neither of them would really understand how much getting dragged to the other side of the Gate scared him; Truth might have told him that Dorn had been the only one to pay a toll, but Ed had bargained with it too many times to take anything it said at face value. 

"Okay," Darius agreed, squeezing Ed's hip. "One of us is going with you tomorrow." 

"I know." 

"Have you eaten?" Heinkel asked. 

Ed sighed and shook his head. "I'm queasy," he admitted, because his stomach had never quite settled after the whole mess, and forcing himself to eat lunch hadn't helped matters. (He'd known it wouldn't, but Armstrong had been watching him like a hawk, and Ed wouldn't have put it past the man to drag him back to the hotel in the middle of the day at such an obvious sign that he wasn't as okay as he'd been pretending.) "I just want to sleep." 

"Get him something to change into," Heinkel murmured. 

"Sure." Darius squeezed his hip again, then pulled away. 

"I am a _shit_ commander," Ed muttered. 

Heinkel snorted, his fingers returning to scratching at Ed's head. "Even commanding officers need to be taken care of sometimes, kid." 

"When you start trying to hide shit like this from us, _then_ you're a shit commander," Darius added from the direction of the dresser. "Right now, I say you're doing pretty good." 

Someone knocked on the door. 

Ed opened his eyes and craned his head to look, while Darius stalked over to open it, positioning himself so no one could see into the room around him and catch sight of Ed cuddling with Heinkel. "Can I help you?" 

"I'm sorry," a woman said, "but there's a phone call for Lieutenant Colonel Elric from Ishval." 

"Mustang?" Ed mumbled; well, maybe he'd misjudged who Armstrong would call. That, or he'd told Grumman and the bastard had been the one to ring Mustang. He sighed and forced himself to sit up and pull away from Heinkel, because if he didn't take the call or sent one of his team to handle it, Mustang would freak the fuck out. "I'll take it." 

"Go with him," Heinkel ordered Darius as Ed stood, and he sighed and resigned himself to being mother-henned for the next week or so. (To be fair, he'd known that would happen as soon as he'd realised he needed to tell his team.) 

The woman led them downstairs and into the office behind the desk, rather than the public phone, which had Ed raising his eyebrow, then left them. 

Ed picked up the handset with a sigh. "I'm here." 

_"Why did Major Armstrong just ring through telling me I needed to ring you?"_ Mustang demanded. 

Ed dropped tiredly into the nearest chair, brushing his loose hair back behind his ear when it swung forward into his face. "There was an incident at the lab today. I got caught up in an active array, but I'm _fine_. Armstrong's a ridiculous worrywart." 

From his position by the door, Darius snorted. "That's a different tune," he said, loud enough that Mustang would have heard. 

"Traitor," Ed muttered. 

_"Ed,"_ Mustang said. That was it, just his name. 

Ed slumped and closed his eyes. "Fucker found some of the research on those soulless dolls of the Dwarf in the Flask's," he explained, ignoring Darius' sharp breath. "Since he didn't have access to a Philosopher's Stone to bring them to life, he figured he'd just use living humans, take away their will. But he hadn't finished the calculations on what he'd need to exchange for that, and he didn't know to figure in how much trouble _that_ would cause if he tried using it on another alchemist. So he lost both legs and an arm and bled out on the floor." 

_"Are you okay?"_ Mustang asked. 

Ed smiled, felt it pull all the wrong muscles, knew the bastard would understand when he said, "I saw _that_."

_"What did it take?"_ he demanded, sounded honestly freaked out. 

"Nothing." 

_"It always takes **some** –"_

"You think I don't know that?" Ed interrupted, didn't really want to hear his own fears spelt out for him. "It said it took its toll from that fucker, let me go. I don't–" He took a deep breath, tried to get a hold of himself. 

_"You didn't activate the array?"_ Mustang said. 

"Of course I didn't fucking–!"

_"Stop shouting,"_ Mustang said, his voice gentle, and Ed felt his shoulders slump. _"Has it ever dragged you over when you got caught up in an array you didn't activate?"_

Ed hadn't, but Al– He straightened. "Al got pulled through a few times, because his soul was trying to reconnect with his body, and when we all got transported to the Dwarf in the Flask's lair. But, for me, it's always been when I was the one using the alchemy. You think, what, it was fucking with me?" 

_"It's possible,"_ Mustang offered. _"Its sense of humour isn't really..."_

"Funny by our standards?" 

_"Essentially. Have you done any alchemy since?"_

"Yeah. It worked fine." 

_"Still have all your fingers and toes?"_

"Funny," Ed muttered, but he could feel himself relaxing, a smile tugging on his mouth. It helped, having someone who understood, who shared his fear, but was far enough away from the issue to see another angle, to walk him through the logic that he'd been struggling to find all day. 

_"You're not any shorter, are you?"_

"I'm going to fucking hang up on you in a minute, you bastard." 

Mustang chuckled, the sound just a little strained, but honest. _"Ring me tomorrow night, please."_

Ed almost complained about how many mother-hens he had, but then he stopped and put himself in Mustang's shoes: If he'd found out Mustang'd had another brush with Truth, he'd have wanted to hear from him regularly for a couple days, too, same as for Al or Teacher. "Okay," he agreed, and wasn't sure if he'd imagined Mustang letting out a relieved breath or not. "Hey, Roy? Thanks." 

_"Any time,"_ Mustang replied, sounding like he meant it. 

And Ed...caught himself believing that. That Mustang was there, that he'd be there next time, too. That he could ring the bastard any time he wanted and they could talk, even when he was stressed and too close to falling apart, when he needed to be strong for his team, but Elicia wasn't there to remind him how to smile. 

Hadn't Ed said it himself, in that alley? He'd keep Mustang from stumbling again, but sometimes he needed a hand up, too. 

"Same," he heard himself say, and he _knew_ he meant it, because he and Mustang shared some of the same burdens, and Ed couldn't be the only one who needed a laugh, some days. 

Mustang snorted. _"If you'd stay put for once,"_ he said, which sort of confirmed Ed's thoughts. 

Ed smiled and it felt worn. "I'll work on that," he offered, knew it was a lie, knew _Mustang_ knew it was a lie. 

Mustang snorted again. 

"Good night, bastard," Ed offered, felt almost awkward, like he wasn't really sure how to say goodbye to Mustang. (He'd never really had to, had he? Had got in the habit of storming out without saying anything, or insulting him and hanging up before the bastard could say anything in response. 

(Maybe, just a little bit, he was starting to get used to thinking of Mustang as a friend.) 

_"Good night, Ed,"_ Mustang replied, amusement in his voice. 

Ed caught himself smiling as he hung up. 

"I should listen in on your conversations with your CO more often," Darius decided. "That was fucking _bizarre_."

"Shut the fuck up," Ed ordered as he stood. 

Darius considered him for a moment, standing between Ed and the door and utterly unmoved by his glower. "Huh. Are you hungry?" 

"Am I–?"

Ed stopped, took a moment to consider the state of his stomach. He wasn't _starving_ , not like he'd usually be by that time of night, but his stomach had settled while he'd been talking to the bastard. "Something light, I guess," he decided. 

Darius nodded. "Good. You were seriously freaking me out for a bit there," he offered before leading the way out of the office. 

Ed hurried his steps so he could hit the arsehole before he made the stairs, scowling when Darius' only response was to laugh.

.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who have read _Dreaming in Red and Gold_ , you may recognise a few OCs in this chapter.
> 
> Panic attack triggered by a nightmare in the first scene.

_White, white, everything was white except for the monstrous stone gateway standing at his back._

_"Welcome back, alchemist," that voice said, so very mocking._

_Ed squeezed his arms around Megan, even as he looked down and glared at the seated figure. "Let her go," he said – said again? Hadn't this already happened? "You need a price, you take it from me, but you **let her go**."_

_Its smile widened, turned cruel, and it pointed towards the left. "We have our price," it said and Ed looked, found Mustang held in the clutches of a Gate, his eyes wide and terrified and _blind_ as he reached out, out–_

_"Roy!"_

Ed sat up in a rush, gasping for breath, still seeing Mustang being pulled in, helpless and– 

"Ed." Hands came down on his shoulders, warm and familiar. "Ed, you need to breathe." 

He tried to draw in a breath, couldn't, couldn't stop seeing Mustang reaching– 

" _Ed_ ," Heinkel said, firmer, squeezing his shoulders. 

'Water, thirty-five litres,' Ed mouthed, stared into the darkness of the room because the space behind his eyelids was filled with his nightmare, 'carbon, twenty kilograms; ammonia, four litres; lime...' 

He took a moment to just breathe once he'd gone through his list, reminding himself that Mustang was in fucking Ishval and he could see fine and _Ed was letting Truth get to him_. 

"Sorry," he whispered, reaching up and patting one of the hands on his shoulders. "Go back to sleep." 

Heinkel squeezed his shoulders and drew away, knew well enough by now that Ed wasn't going to be going back to sleep that night. "Stay in the room," he requested as he lay back down. 

"Okay," Ed agreed and got up. He found one of Mustang's old Cretan books and took that into the bathroom, where he could shut the door and have the light on without disturbing his team. He'd already read through this book, but he'd take pretty much anything, at that point, if he could lose himself in study and forget about the whiteness on the other side of the Gate and Truth's cruel smile, as if it knew– 

"Stop," Ed whispered to himself as he opened the book, forced himself to focus on the page, on the words that were starting to become familiar. Maybe he'd converse with Mustang in Cretan next time, then it wouldn't matter if Darius was listening in. 

-0-

The next day was much easier, and involved no fucking idiot alchemists trying to activate arrays they hadn't fully worked the kinks out of. 

That said, Ed was somehow completely unsurprised to find Grumman waiting with a car outside of the lab at the end of the day, and he turned an irritated look on Armstrong. "Anyone _else_ you called that I need to be worried about coming to annoy me?" 

Armstrong, looking wholly unapologetic, informed him, "It is military policy–" 

"Oh, shut up and go home," Ed interrupted, while Heinkel snorted behind him. "I'll see you in the morning." 

Armstrong gave him a perfunctory salute, very clearly not expecting one in return, then turned and saluted Grumman, which he held until the Führer returned it, before walking to his own car. 

"Lieutenant Colonel Elric, Second Lieutenant Potez," Grumman called, motioning to his car, "if you'll join me for dinner?" 

Ed sighed. "Yeah, fine. But you get to explain to Darius why we're back super later." 

"I sent another car to pick up Second Lieutenant Wright," Grumman offered, before sliding into the back seat and motioning for Ed to join him, leaving the passenger seat for Heinkel. 

"You suck, sir," Ed informed him as he joined him in the backseat, and the driver let out a choked noise. 

Grumman's moustache twitched. "Noted." 

The restaurant they were brought to was one of those fancy-arse places that Ed wouldn't have set foot in if given any other choice, and, judging by the expression on Darius' face when he joined them, he felt the same. At least the military uniform – Ed and Heinkel had both worn theirs to the lab, and Darius had apparently changed into his when he'd been picked up – counted as acceptable dress for places like this. 

The person waiting to sit them clearly knew Grumman, because he was ready to seat them before they'd even reached the stand, bowing politely before leading them out into the dining floor. (Of course, everyone knew the Führer, so Ed didn't suppose that response should have surprised him.) 

They were sat next to a large window, Ed and Grumman next to each other with their backs to the corners of the window, while Heinkel and Darius were directed to sit on the dining room side of the table. Ed glanced out the window while the waiter asked after their drinks, noting the two parks with nice line-of-sight and the office of Central's largest newspaper. "What, exactly," he asked once the waiter had left, "are you up to this time?" 

Grumman smiled at him, that same smile that Ed was beginning to understand meant he was going to hate whatever the bastard said next. "Can I not have a pleasant meal with one of my best State Alchemists and his team?" 

Ed gave him a flat look. "I'm not in the mood to smile for the sake of your flagging popularity, old man. If you wanted your show pony, you shouldn't have handed me the labs." 

Grumman considered him for a moment from behind his menu. "Pick something to eat, Lieutenant Colonel," he finally said. 

"Ed," Heinkel murmured when Ed opened his mouth to tell the Führer where he could shove his fucking menu. 

Huffing, Ed turned his attention to the menu. It was all fancy stuff, far outside of Ed's comfort zone, but Heinkel reached over and pointed at an option that didn't sound too terrible, and when Ed glanced up to shoot him a smile, he saw him doing the same for Darius, and he hid his amused grin behind his menu; it was always reassuring to know he wasn't the only fancy-inept one on his team, and they had someone who could help out when they found themselves in over their heads like this. 

Once the waiter had taken their orders, Grumman requested, "What happened yesterday?" 

Ed picked up his water, wished he'd taken a chance and asked for alcohol instead, and asked, "What did Armstrong tell you?" 

"Never mind what Major Armstrong told me. What happened?" 

Ed glanced at him, took a moment to decide that, yeah, Grumman was going to be a fucking bastard about this, and sighed, then gave the simplified explanation of what happened, the one that would make sense to a non-alchemist, that didn't touch on the reality of the Gate and Truth. But, too, just like with his team and with Mustang, he avoided mentioning Blooming's daughter, only said he'd been caught up in the array, not why, and he suspected Armstrong had done the same, because neither of them really wanted to get Blooming in trouble, or to drag Megan or Mary into the issue at all. 

"Was there any way you could have stopped Dorn from activating the array?" Grumman asked at last. 

Ed frowned; the thought had never even occurred to him, in all honestly, and he took a moment to go back over the events. "Maybe," he allowed. "I could have disrupted the array before he finished drawing it, cracked the floor under it so he couldn't connect the lines, but if he still tried activating it, it may well have caught all of us in the rebound." He shrugged. "I honestly didn't even see him until after the circle had activated – I was too busy trying to figure out what he was up to – but if I'd seen him, I probably could have knocked him out, or trapped him somehow. I dunno. Probably, but I didn't." He shrugged again, before offering a grateful smile to their waiter as he came back with their food. 

Grumman nodded and waited until their food was set out and the waiter had left and before asking, "Where you inside the array when it activated?" 

"Yes," Ed replied before taking a bite of his food and ignoring the frowns his team shot him; he expected that hadn't occurred to them, that he would have had to be inside the array to get caught up in it. 

"Why?" 

Ed swallowed his mouthful and met Grumman's stare evenly. "Stupidity." 

One of Grumman's eyebrows raised slightly. "Are you intending to put that in your formal report, Lieutenant Colonel?" 

"Yes, sir." 

Grumman's other eyebrow joined the first, but when Ed returned to his food, he sighed. "Major Armstrong reports that he thought you were out of the array, but when it activated, you were back inside, but he didn't have an explanation for the discrepancy." 

"I was on the edge," Ed offered flatly, "and the array finished on my side of the room; he probably just had a bad angle." 

Grumman hummed and fell quiet to eat some of his dinner. 

Ed glanced at his team and gave a minute shake of his head in response to their frowns. Darius' jaw clenched, but both gave the briefest of nods in response; they wouldn't press for details. For the moment. 

"How are things in the labs otherwise?" Grumman asked at last. "I believe you finished lab three last week?" 

Ed nodded and settled in to give him a brief report between bites; he'd have to write up a formal report once he was done, he knew, but he could see the sense in catching Grumman up about the important parts now, since they were already talking about the labs, and they didn't have to police their words quite the same way as they would in the office, especially since the tables closest to them were suspiciously empty, and their waiter was politely keeping his distance. 

Once Ed ran out of updates, Grumman nodded, then said, "I need you to head out west next week." 

Ed wasn't the only one who turned a sharp gaze on the Führer. "What have you heard that I haven't?" 

Grumman smiled at him. "When do you get your updates?" 

Ed frowned at him, wasn't about to admit that he was due to ring Youswell that night. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said instead. 

Grumman nodded. "You'll hear soon enough," he offered. "Finish with lab two, then head out." 

Ed glanced at Darius. "Car," he said. 

Darius gave a sharp nod. "I'll handle it tomorrow." 

"I'll drop my report past Command on our way out of town," Ed told Grumman. 

"Excellent." Grumman motioned their waiter over. "Dessert, gentlemen?" 

Ed glanced at his team, and when they both shrugged, he sighed and agreed, "Fine." 

Grumman waited until they were all standing after finishing dessert, before he dropped a friendly hand onto Ed's shoulder and murmured, "Smile as we leave, Elric." 

Ed huffed, disgusted, but obediently put on a smile, because he'd known he'd end up playing show pony for the Führer, but at least the bastard had waited until after he'd eaten before pushing it. 

He pretended he didn't see the photographer failing to hide in an alley, and very purposefully offered Grumman a hand when they reached the two waiting cars, both with military drivers. "Thanks for the food, sir," he said as cheerfully as he could manage. 

Grumman gave his hand a resigned look, but took it all the same. "Keep up the good work, Lieutenant Colonel," he replied, before turning to Darius and Heinkel, both of whom saluted. "Second Lieutenants," Grumman said, saluting them back. 

Then they parted, each getting into their own cars. 

Ed waited until they got to the hotel and their driver had left before muttering, "Now I feel dirty." 

"I can fix that," Darius suggested, shooting him a lecherous look. 

"Not in uniform," Heinkel reminded him, motioning for them to go inside. 

"I need to make some calls," Ed warned, and was somehow completely unsurprised when they both joined him in walking over to the public phone, arranging themselves as a sort of human barrier against people who might listen in. 

He rang Youswell first, traded a cheerful greeting with Halling, then settled in to listen to Morgan's report. The report that had Grumman sending them west came from Stephan, up in Isidra, near the border between the west and north areas, where they were having trouble with what could have been bandits, but they'd been getting extremely daring over the last two days, and had taken out a medical caravan just that morning. Isidra military command had been trying to catch them for weeks, but their only lead, as Ed had once warned, had led them no further than a building that was clearly meant as a front to stump the military. 

"Tell Halling that, next time Stephan rings through, tell him we'll be there beginning of the week, at the latest," Ed ordered, because he could speed up his work in lab two a bit and get through everything before the weekend, and Morgan relayed that to Halling, who Ed knew from experience would stay in the room while Morgan passed on any reports. "Good. Anything else?" 

There wasn't much else of note, a few hints of groups popping up here and there, but none as worrisome as the group out in the west, and Ed was actually super grateful about that, because he could only handle so many crises at a time. 

After hanging up with Morgan, he immediately rang Ishval, because he'd promised and because it would be nice to not be discussing military matters for a bit. Or, well, the labs and the mess of the rest of their nation, at least. Fuery picked up, as usual, and Ed held him long enough to hear some of the Ishval gossip – he never heard how things were going there, since he usually rang when he was at the end of his rope, and it wasn't like Mustang sent him weekly reports – before letting him go get Mustang. 

_"How are you feeling?"_ Mustang asked as soon as he picked up. 

Ed couldn't quite stop a smile. "Desperate to punch old man Grumman?" 

Mustang snorted. _"What's he done this time?"_

"Dinner at some fancy-arse place with a nice view of a couple parks and the Central Times offices." 

Mustang, because he was a bastard, laughed at him. 

"Oh, go fuck yourself." 

_"I'll take that under consideration,"_ Mustang returned. 

Ed's ever helpful imagination supplied him with a mental image of that and he closed his eyes, his face feeling warm. "Ugh. Central is rotting my brain," he muttered, as if that was actually his problem. (Stupid fucking Mustang and his perfect fucking face.) 

_"When are you leaving?"_

"Soon as I'm done kicking those idiots in lab two into line. Friend of mine passed on some interesting news." 

Mustang was quiet for a moment, then he drily said, _"You're going to spend tomorrow night grovelling, you realise."_

Elicia. Ed groaned; he'd completely forgotten that he was going to have to tell her they were leaving early. "Aw, fuck. She's going to be a misery." 

"Ed?" Darius murmured. 

"Elicia," Ed offered, and he didn't need to see his team's faces to know they were joining him in dreading that parting. "You're a bastard," he told Mustang. 

_"I'll have to listen to her go on about how her big brother abandoned her, if that makes you feel any better."_

"A little bit," Ed decided. "But only because every time she does, she's just proving she loves me best." 

Mustang scoffed. _"Hardly. She just likes that you're more her size."_

"I'm gonna fucking slug you next time I see you, swear to fuck." 

Mustang laughed again. _"Once she grows a bit more–"_

"I'm about to hang up on you. And then I'll tell Elicia it's _your_ fault I'm leaving her." 

_"Below the belt, Ed."_

"Don't–" Ed warned. 

_"Just like you."_

Ed hung up. "I hate him so fucking much," he complained. "Smug bastard and his stupid– Argh!" 

"Short jokes?" Darius suggested. 

"He can actually punch you," Heinkel pointed out as Ed turned to glare at the part-gorilla. 

Darius beat a hasty retreat. 

Heinkel glanced at Ed, raising one eyebrow in that way that meant 'Shall we make him regret opening his mouth?' 

Ed flashed him a smirk and nodded, and they started for the stairs together. 

-0-

Ed finished lab two by unearthing a researcher who was was interested in the Philosopher's Stone and didn't care what he sacrificed to make one, and he left the idiot for Armstrong to drag down to the prison while he and Heinkel stopped by Command to drop off his report, then met up with Darius and left Central behind. 

Ed checked in with Stephan as soon as they arrived in Isidra, got what updates he had, then they left to hunt down the fuckers. Which, in the end, only took a few days, because they were careless and sure of themselves, and Ed and his team were all fairly fresh from their holiday. 

They were just debating where to head next, shifting through the rumours they'd picked up in the area, some of which had been handed off by Stephan, when a bright-eyed young woman walked boldly up to them, wrapped one arm around Ed's waist, and kissed his cheek. "Well hello there, gorgeous," she said, loud enough to carry, before quietly adding, "The madam's boy needs a word." 

Ed made the sign he'd worked out with his team for Mustang with his free hand, while he wrapped his other arm back around the woman and flashed his team a smug grin. "I'll be back, kids." 

"Okay," he heard Darius say as the woman led him away, "that is actually kind of not fair." 

"Says the gay man," Heinkel returned, sounding so very unimpressed. 

The woman led Ed down an alley and through a back door into what appeared to be the kitchen of a restaurant which wasn't open yet, judging by how empty the place was. "Phone's there," she said as she let him go, motioning towards where a phone was sitting next to what looked to be a board to write orders on. 

"Thanks," he replied as he stepped over to the phone and picked it up, quickly dialling Ishval. 

_"Ishval Command,"_ Fuery answered. 

"Is he there?" he asked, because Fuery knew his voice well enough he didn't need to introduce himself, and if Mustang was reaching out to him, he wouldn't have gone far. 

_"Yes. Chief!"_

The phone was handed over and Mustang, his voice completely Ed's CO, said, _"Fullmetal?"_

"What have you got for me?" 

_"North City."_

'Evan,' Ed realised. 

_"Major General Armstrong is handling the incident. Can you write down an address?"_

"I'll remember it," Ed promised, because he and his team knew North City better than Mustang probably expected, after hiding out there while they waited for Ed to fully heal from the mineshaft. 

Mustang rattled off the address, then added, _"Tell Andrea her old Flame sent you."_

Ed raised an eyebrow at that. "Roger." 

Mustang hung up without anything more, so Ed did the same. His guide had vanished at some point during the conversation, and Ed shrugged, took a moment to dishevel himself, then made his way back out the alley and to his team. 

"Damn," Darius complained. "Since when have you been the love 'em and leave 'em sort?" 

Ed shrugged. "Since I found her wedding ring," he lied, and Darius started laughing. "Get in the car so we can get with the leaving, would you?" 

Once they were all in the car and the doors were closed, he ordered, "North City." 

Heinkel nodded in understanding and peeled away from the kerb just fast enough that anyone watching them might well think they were running from Ed's fling's husband. 

-0-

The house Mustang had given them the address for was on the outskirts of North City, not quite in the slums, but it wouldn't have looked out of place there, though it was trying to look respectable. Ed could see signs of alchemic repairs along the front-facing walls and the stairs up to the front door, transmutation marks visible even from a distance, suggesting a fairly low-level or beginner alchemist had been the one to make them, and he suspected he'd find much finer marks once he was closer, as he didn't think Mustang would send a member of his squad to hide out with some third-rate alchemist. 

They pulled to a stop outside the house and Ed climbed out, leaving his team with the idling car, in case they needed to leave in a hurry – fucking shadows making him paranoid. He walked straight up to the door and, as he knocked, made note of the very fine hints of transmutation on the doorframe; no third-rate alchemist, then. But, whether the more obvious transmutation marks had been left purposefully to mislead, or just because it was easier to leave them, he couldn't say. 

The woman who opened the door was about Ed's height, looked to be about Mustang's age, and was vaguely familiar, like Ed had seen her before, but he couldn't place where. She was smiling, but it was clearly not a friendly smile, more 'what can I say to make you go away?' "Can I help you?" she asked, her voice pitched pleasantly. 

"Andrea?" Ed returned. 

Her eyes narrowed and her smile became more obviously forced. "Yes." 

Ed nodded. "Your old Flame sent me. Which, by the way, is tacky and I can't believe he made me say that." Because he couldn't _not_ bitch. 

She relaxed, her smile turning much more honest, and she opened the door wider, revealing a talisman in the hand that had been hidden behind the door, which looked to have an array on it, but Ed couldn't get a good look from the current angle. "He said you'd complain," she admitted, before motioning with her head towards the idling car. "Your team?" 

"Yeah. Is there somewhere they should stash the car?" Ed asked, because he hadn't seen many vehicles on the road, and Heinkel had suggested those who had them probably had a garage of some sort. 

She considered it for a moment, then shook her head. "It's close enough to military carpool, no one will question it." 

Ed raised an eyebrow at that, but made the hand signs for 'safe' and 'join me'. 

Their hostess waited until they were all inside before holding out her hand and saying, "Major Andrea Kozlova, the Stardust Alchemist." 

Ed grinned at her as he shook her hand; she was the person who Mustang said he'd learnt some Drachman from in Ishval, and having heard her name before made him feel a lot better about trusting her. "Lieutenant Colonel Ed Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist. These are Second Lieutenants Darius Wright and Heinkel Potez." 

"Good to meet you, sir." 

"Don't call me sir," Ed insisted, and she let out a quiet laugh, her eyes as bright as her second name. "Not to be rude, but where's Evan?" 

Stardust smiled understandingly and nodded. "This way." 

She led them through the house – signs of transmutation everywhere, like they'd had to repair the whole house at one point – and down into a largely-empty cellar, where another woman who looked exactly like Stardust – twins, Ed suspected – sat playing cards at a rickety table with Evan, who looked exhausted. 

"Ed!" Evan recognised as soon as he saw him, dropping his hand to the table and standing unsteadily. "Thank god." 

"Sit down before you fall down," Ed insisted, hooking the last chair at the table with his foot and dragging it out as Evan settled back in his chair. Before he sat, he nodded to the other woman. "Ed Elric." 

"Major Francine Kozlova," the woman returned, far less friendly than her sister. 

" _Ci-Ci_ ," Stardust hissed, and Kozlova shot her an unimpressed look. Stardust sighed, then offered, "Let me find you chairs," to Darius and Heinkel. 

Ed shrugged and turned his focus to Evan. "You look like shit," he deadpanned. 

Evan offered him a tired smile. "I feel like shit." 

Ed reached out and ruffled his hair, leaning one elbow on the table to brace himself. "What happened and who do I need to punch?" 

Evan's shoulders slumped slightly and he looked almost more stressed than when Ed had first seen him. "My father," he admitted. 

'Major General Beardmore,' Ed knew. "Okay. Why am I punching him?" 

Evan looked vaguely surprised. 

Ed sighed. "Major General Armstrong's got clean-up of whatever mess you passed on; all Mustang told me to do was come check on you. And I'm happy to go punch your father in the face, but you've gotta give me a reason I can pass on to old man Grumman when he tells me off for breaking a major general's nose." 

Evan blinked once, then he started laughing. It was the sort of laughter that you made when you'd just realised you were safe and you could relax for the first time in way too fucking long. It was the sort of laughter, Ed knew, that could very quickly turn into sobs, and almost always led to crashing hard. 

He stood and grabbed Evan in a hug. "I told you, didn't I?" he murmured as Evan grabbed for him with desperate hands. "Your only job is to get the warning out and get yourself to safety. Everything else is on me." 

He waited until Evan had relaxed into an exhausted sleep before bending over and picking him up with far less trouble than he'd been expecting; that didn't bode well for his health. "Is there a bed?" he requested. 

"This way," Kozlova offered, standing and leading the way to a door that had been disguised against the far wall. 

"Heinkel," Ed called over his shoulder as he followed her, "I need my suitcase and any loose files." 

"You got it," Heinkel promised, and Ed heard him on the stairs as he stepped into the small room hidden behind the false wall. 

The room wasn't particularly large, barely had space for a narrow cot and a toilet with a sink built over the tank, but Ed managed to lay Evan on the cot and pull the thick blanket up over him, without banging his own elbow too many times. 

Leaving the door open a crack, Ed returned to the table, which Kozlova had cleared of cards. "What was Evan's report, do you know?" he requested quietly as he settled back in his original chair. 

She shook her head. "All I know is that our general is taking a large force out to sit in Hamp until something blows up or they get an all-clear." 

Ed blinked, caught on the way she'd said that, 'our general'. "Briggs," he realised, finally placing her face. " _That's_ why you two look so familiar!" 

Kozlova's smile was not kind. 

Ed groaned. "Why is it that your commander is in my business whenever I'm in the north?" 

Kozlova shrugged, her eyes glinting. "I answer to Major General Welrod, now." 

Ed snorted, because Briggs' loyalty was as absolute as Ed's own; he would bet his right arm that Kozlova only answered to Welrod when it suited Armstrong. "Sure you do," he agreed as Heinkel returned with his suitcase, Stardust following him with some of the loose paperwork that Ed didn't really have the room for in his secret hiding spot, yet had too much value to leave with the unnecessary files Gracia was storing for him. (And, yes, he knew he needed to find a better place to store his mission papers and old alchemy journals, but Gracia had offered, and her place and Rush Valley were the only two places he could see himself going out of his way to visit, where he also trusted the people who lived there to keep his things safe.) 

Once he had his suitcase, he quickly pulled out the papers in there, ignoring Stardust's impressed whistle at the clever hiding place, then dropped everything into the middle of the table. "I want any reference we have to Major General Beardmore, or any of those question marks that we couldn't tie to anyone." 

It didn't take them long to find everything, while Kozlova ran out to North Command and brought back the file they had on the man. (Ed didn't ask how she'd snuck it out.) He'd been posted to North City before the Promised Day and, Kozlova passed on, had been in charge of minding Briggs once Armstrong transferred to Central. He clearly hadn't been in on the Dwarf in the Flask's plans, as he'd remained in the north during the events, but the fact that Bradley had trusted him with Briggs made it clear where his loyalties lay. 

"Why didn't this flag?" Ed demanded. "Someone Bradley trusted never should have been promoted." 

Darius shrugged. "If he wasn't in the inner circle, there wouldn't have been a reason to drag him before a tribunal. All he did was watch Briggs, and Bradley could have told any member of the brass to do that without anyone questioning their true loyalties." 

"Not everyone knew what Bradley was," Heinkel added, and Ed slumped, "or what he and his master were planning. You don't have to like your commander to follow their orders." 

"Thanks for reminding me," Ed muttered. 

"You don't like Roy?" Stardust asked, and Ed couldn't keep from shooting her a startled look at hearing the man's first name from someone other than the Hugheses or Chris. "Sorry, Brigadier Gen–" 

"I know what his name is," Ed interrupted, waving that away, "I'm just not used to hearing it from other military personnel. And I like him fine, when he's not being a smug bastard. No, it's old man Grumman I want to punch in the face for breathing." 

"I thought you supported the Führer." 

Ed shrugged. "As Führer, yeah, he's fine, but I hate him as a person." 

"His laugh makes Ed homicidal," Darius offered with a mean little smile. 

"Your _face_ makes me homicidal," Ed retorted, and Heinkel sighed while Stardust muffled laughter into her hand. 

"What are you going to do about Beardmore?" Kozlova interrupted, dragging them back on topic. "What you've got here is hardly enough to warrant– What is it you promised that kid? Punching him in the face?" 

Ed snorted. "All I need is reasonable suspicion to have him dragged off by the MPs, then I can go through his files at home and in his office at Central Command until I find the proof I need, which is going to be there, because he's got his fingers in too many rancid pies. _Then_ I can punch him in the face." 

"And the kid?" she pressed. 

Ed huffed. "You realise he's almost two years older than me." 

Kozlova paused, looking a bit thrown by that, and Stardust let out a choked laugh. 

Ed rolled his eyes. "He gave me the heads up, that's all I need from him. If you two are fine with hiding him for a couple more weeks, until I've got his father pinned for life, awesome. If not, I'll find other accommodations for him." 

"What if I want to help?" Evan asked, and Ed turned to find him standing in the doorway of the hidden room, still looking tired, but far better for his hour of sleep. 

"Evan–" 

"You're not the only one he's hurt, Ed!" Evan shouted, thumping a hand against his own chest, his eyes burning with that same determination from months ago, when he told Ed he was sticking with him because Ed had given him the choice to walk away. "He made my brothers and I – all of us – think that his way was the only way, that the military was about blindly following orders, that the only person who would ever care about us was him and each other. And he said – after the memorial – he told me they didn't matter. That Rebecca and Nick and everyone on the front lines, that they don't–" 

"Evan," Ed said, quieter, getting up and starting towards him. 

"He called you a _dog_ ," Evan whispered, slumping against the false wall. 

Ed sighed as he stopped in front of Evan, placing gentle hands on his shoulders. "That's what people call State Alchemists. You get used to it." 

"I'll verify that," Stardust offered from the table, before helpfully adding, "At least you don't get the gendered or discriminatory slurs; I'm always the 'Drachman bitch'." 

Ed winced and looked back at her; it hadn't even really occurred to him that she had Drachman blood, though it made sense that she'd have known enough of the language to teach Mustang because of her bloodline. "Sorry about that." 

She shrugged. "You do eventually get used to it." 

"Or you let someone else stab them while you–" Kozlova started, clearly not as blasé about the insult as Ed and Stardust were. 

"Ci-Ci," Stardust interrupted, sounding tired, "please stop stabbing people in my name." 

Darius, the arsehole, started laughing. 

Ed rolled his eyes and turned back to Evan, who looked very much like he would be better served going back to bed. "People have been calling me a dog since I was twelve. I'm sorry that your father saying it hurt you, but it doesn't bother me any more." He shook his head. "Fuck, I'm more the military's dog now than I was as a kid." 

"Mustang's dog," Evan corrected quietly. "You weren't the military's, you were Mustang's." 

"...good," Ed decided, and Evan shot him a surprised look. Ed shrugged and switched tracks, having no interest in airing the depth of his loyalties to one of Armstrong's spies (even if Armstrong likely already knew Ed answered to Mustang first). "You can come with us," he agreed, firming his voice, "but you're going to follow my rules, okay?" 

Evan immediately nodded. "Yeah." 

"First, you're getting a full night's sleep, because it's a long trip and we're going to hit the ground running in Central, no matter how late we get in." 

Darius groaned. "I'd like to lodge a complaint." 

"Noted and discarded," Ed shot back, and Heinkel and one of the Kozlovas both let out amused noises, while Darius started making a pathetic whining noise, until someone – Ed suspected Heinkel – hit him hard enough they all heard it. Ed rolled his eyes at the idiot, but couldn't stop from quirking a smile when he caught sight of Evan's own. "Second," Ed continued, and Evan's smile faded a bit, "while we're in Central, me or Darius or Heinkel are going to be with at all times. You don't go anywhere alone, not even if someone who outranks me says so. And if shit goes down, you listen to whichever one of us you're with." 

"Okay," Evan agreed. 

Ed glanced back at his team and they both gave firm nods; they'd keep Evan safe. "Right." Ed looked at Evan again. "Are you hungry?" 

"Not really." 

"Then go back to sleep." 

Evan's mouth twisted like he wanted to complain about that, but Ed put on his best 'I am your commanding officer and you're gonna fucking _listen to me_ ' face, and Evan sighed and nodded. "Yes, sir." 

"Don't call me sir," Ed insisted as Evan returned to the hidden room, and the flash of a smile that Evan sent him said he'd done that on purpose. (Ed couldn't really pretend to be surprised.) 

Once the door to the hidden room had fallen closed, Stardust offered, "We don't really have accommodations here for you, but I can probably hunt down a few blankets if you want to avoid getting a hotel?" 

Ed frowned and glanced at his team; he didn't really want to chance whatever eyes Evan's father had in North City reporting back that they were snooping around, and he sort of wanted to be there if Evan needed reassurance in the middle of the night – Ed had been there, he knew how stressful it was to feel like you were being hunted and there were only a limited number of people you could trust – but still... 

"We can bring down the camping equipment," Heinkel pointed out. "We'll be fine for one night." 

Ed nodded. "As long as it's not going to be an imposition." 

Stardust waved a hand at him. "Please. I'd almost rather have the great Fullmetal Alchemist on hand, just in case something happens." 

Kozlova scoffed. 

"Also, equivalent exchange: Teach me that trick with your suitcase." 

"Ah, see, _now_ I feel better about this arrangement," Ed decided, and all three of the non-alchemists let out disgusted or resigned noises, while Stardust smiled at him in understanding. 

With that settled, it didn't take Ed and his team long to bring in what they'd need, and Kozlova was willing to show Heinkel where he could stash the car so it wasn't sitting out in front of the house. 

While his team set up their bedding, Ed settled at the kitchen table with Stardust, admitting, "I don't know how well this will work for you, really. I'm essentially using a pre-set array as a sort of key to activate another array that seals and unseals the pocket, but since I don't use drawn arrays, no one knows what array I'm using." 

"What array _are_ you using?" 

Ed smiled at her and shook his head as he picked up the pen she'd supplied with paper. "I can show you the array I made to set it up, though." 

She let out a quiet sigh, though her expression said she'd known he wouldn't be telling her his key array. "Sure. How complicated does the key array have to be?" 

Ed shrugged as he started drawing his array. "It should work with something simple, and it doesn't have to be a _working_ array, either, because mine isn't. Keeps from accidentally setting anything else off while I'm opening my case." 

"...that makes sense." 

Ed grinned and took a moment to consider his array, before nodding and passing it over to her, tapping the capped pen against the blank space in the centre. "Your key array goes there, and that'll be the only array it ever reacts to." He sighed while she stared down at it. "It's intended for suitcases, right now, but I can probably tweak it to work with something else, if you need." 

"You said you made this?" Stardust asked, shooting him a slightly wide-eyed look. 

Ed blinked. "Yes? I needed a place to keep all my sensitive documents, and since I live out of a suitcase..." He shrugged. "It isn't that complicated, once you break it down into the component arrays. See, most suitcase frames are made with wood, and then they've got leather on the outside to protect against wear, and fabric lining on the inside to protect your belongings," he explained, before using the pen to point out each of his component arrays and symbols. "So you've got the basic deconstruction and reconstruction array, with the symbols for wood and animal skin and plant fibre components, that's obvious. And then you add in an array for fusing materials, which is, okay, not really basic, but I learned that one fairly early on, so I think of it as basic. And this one, here, that's for using with locks, which my teacher taught me not long after she took my brother and I on, but I had to fuck with it a bit because it tricks the lock into thinking you're inserting a physical key, not–" 

"You know an array to open a lock without leaving evidence?" Stardust interrupted. 

Ed sighed and pulled over another piece of paper to sketch that. "Yeah, Mustang didn't know that one, either. Pretty sure my teacher made it up herself, but I guess she might have got it from her teacher, I dunno, I've never asked." He passed that array over to her. "Super useful." 

"I'll believe that," Stardust admitted, staring down at it and very obviously memorising it. "Did you share it with Roy?" 

"That one–" Ed tapped the one he'd just finished drawing "–yeah, shoved it in his pocket because he was being a smarmy bastard again and told me to go fuck off before I could draw it for him, but we've never talked about this one." He tapped the array he'd made for his suitcase. "He caught me using it once, but never brought it up again. Whatever. He's probably got his own tricks. Like batting his eyelashes and smooth-talking." 

Stardust just shook her head and started laughing. 

Ed pointed the pen at her. "I'm right about the smooth-talking." 

"I think, sometimes," she offered, "that Ci-Ci refuses to actually meet him because she's afraid he'll talk her into liking him." 

"She may be right," Ed admitted, and Stardust snorted. "That said, I'm pretty sure the Ice Queen has a ready cure for that, so she wouldn't have to suffer for long." 

Stardust let out a disbelieving laugh. "You're as bad as she is! I thought you _liked_ Roy." 

Ed sat back in his chair, shrugging. "I do. But I also know he's a smug bastard and women thinking he's a dick are good for him, so." 

She just shook her head in disbelief and looked back down at the arrays Ed had passed her. 

Ed watched her for a moment before, unable to help himself, asking, "Can I ask how you met him? Mustang." 

Stardust blinked up at him. "How I met him?" 

Ed nodded. "He said you taught him a little bit of Drachman, in Ishval." 

"I'm surprised he told you that much," she offered. 

Ed grimaced and shrugged. "He was critiquing my language skills and brought up that he only knew a little bit." 

"I hope he wasn't critiquing your Drachman," Stardust muttered. 

"Nah." 

Stardust watched him for a long moment, then smiled and shook her head. "You're as secretive as he is." 

Ed considered that for a moment, then shrugged. "I'll take that as a compliment." 

She sighed. "We met in Ishval. Maes – Brigadier General Hughes – introduced us. I guess he'd met Roy in the academy, and he sort of got it into his head that two alchemists on a battlefield would equal true love?" 

Ed snorted. "He was like that." 

She let out a quiet laugh, a familiar, aged grief in her eyes. "He really was far too romantic for the battlefield. But, well, Roy and I became friends." 

"With benefits?" Ed suggested, because he knew Mustang. 

Stardust coughed, looking vaguely uncomfortable. "Are you old enough for that kind of talk?" 

Ed rolled his eyes. "Please. I practically grew up in the bastard's office, and one of his team, Havoc, was never shy with details about his exploits, even if Mustang was." 

"At least he has _some_ shame," Stardust muttered, and Ed snickered. "Yes, fine, friends with benefits. But, when we all got sent home, I came back north and he ended up in Central, then went back east. So we talk some, still, and I saw him at Maes' funeral, but we're just friends, now." She shot him a look that immediately put him on guard, before adding, "Regretfully." 

Ed rolled his eyes. "Keep your regret on that side of the table." 

She laughed and sat back. "What about you, then? Story is he talked you into trying for the exam. Youngest ever." 

Ed considered her for a moment, debating how much to reveal, before finally saying, "My father abandoned us when I was really young, and my mum died the year after, so there was no one to stop me from trying some really stupid alchemy, and my brother got hurt because of it. Mustang suggested I could use the military to find a way to help Al, and since it was between that and giving up entirely..." He shrugged, looking away from the pity in her eyes. "He's better now, Al. Off in Xing, making eyes at one of the royal princesses." 

"You didn't go with him?" Stardust asked quietly. 

Ed snorted and tapped his left knee under the table. "Automail leg; Ishval is about as much desert as I can stand for any length of time." He shrugged and looked up, caught her sad stare. "You can keep your pity on that side of the table, too." 

"My sister," Kozlova said, as she stepped into the kitchen, "is a bit of a bleeding heart. You'll have to forgive her." 

Ed sighed. "Just don't start crying," he requested as he stood. "I don't do well with crying." 

"You just need more experience, then," Kozlova informed him, her smile mean. 

"I am going back downstairs, where I know I won't regret punching arseholes when they're asking for it," Ed shot back, before turning and leaving. 

Behind him, Kozlova let out a bark of laughter, while Stardust complained, " _Ci-Ci_ ," in a tone that suggested she was far too used to her sister scaring people off. 

-0-

Ed debated ringing Grumman to warn him that they'd found the mole all night, make sure he had permission to actually drag Beardmore in without worrying about rank – because Ed didn't care, but he could see the brass making a stink about a lieutenant colonel dragging in a major general with only a witness and circumstantial evidence to back him – and was still trying to decide when Heinkel started stirring at way-too-early o'clock. 

"Ed?" Heinkel mumbled, somehow figuring out he was awake. 

Ed sighed; he hated military politics. "I should ring Grumman before he heads in to the office." 

"...did you get any sleep?" 

"No." He sat up and rubbed at his face, feeling the strain from the long night. "I'll sleep in the car. Please get Darius and Evan up for me." 

"Okay." 

Ed stumbled his way upstairs and to the phone he'd seen in the kitchen while they'd been eating dinner the night before. He took a quick glance at the time – early enough that Grumman shouldn't have left for the office yet, but late enough that he should be up, at least – and dialled the bastard's home number. 

_"Hello?"_ an unfamiliar older woman said when the line connected. 

Ed blinked once, thrown – Grumman's file said both his wife and daughter were dead, and Ed knew where his granddaughter was; he didn't _think_ he'd dialled the wrong number – before recalling Grumman had said something about a housekeeper. "Sorry for the early call," he offered, trying to figure out how to get past her without letting on who was calling. Well, he didn't suppose anyone would expect Ed to know the bastard's first name? "Is George still in?" 

_"Oh, yes, one moment."_ Something – Ed suspected a hand – muffled the speaker, and he heard her calling out, then someone responding. 

_"This is George,"_ Grumman said after the phone had been handed over. 

"I found our mole." 

There was a moment of silence, then Grumman cleared his throat. _"Who?"_

"Major General Rodrick Beardmore." 

_"You're certain?"_

"Yes, but I'm going to need to go through his things for proof that will stand up in a tribunal." 

_"What do you have?"_

"Reasonable doubt and a witness." 

"Ed?" Darius called from down the hall. 

Ed muffled the speaker with his hand. "Start taking things out to the car," he ordered quietly, mindful of the Kozlovas. "We'll pick up something to eat on our way out." 

Darius nodded in understanding and turned to go back down to the cellar. 

_"You're on your way back to Central?"_

"Yes. We should be there–" he did some quick calculations; last time they'd gone from North City to Central City, they'd only had two drivers, had been forced to take side roads, and been aiming for the south end of the city, and it had taken them almost four days; this time, they had three drivers and could take the straight shot to Command or the Beardmore home "–by tomorrow morning at the latest, but I expect we'll be getting in late tonight." 

_"As soon as you get in, come to my hou–"_

"He has people watching your house." 

Grumman was quiet for a moment, before snapping, _"You think I'm unaware of that?"_

"If he gets warning that we're back in town and meeting at your fucking house, he's going to fucking know something's up, _sir_ , and if he starts destroying files, _we will have nothing_. And I have not spent the last six months chasing breadcrumbs for this to blow up in my face because you want a fucking _verbal report_ ," Ed snarled, barely remembering to keep his voice down in deference to their hostesses. 

_"I know you don't care about the military chain of command,"_ Grumman returned, his tone icy, _"but you will respect it, or this will fall to pieces far faster than it would without any proof."_

Ed grit his teeth and closed his eyes. There _had_ to be a way– 

"When Kimblee and Raven came up north, to Briggs," he said as it occurred to him, his voice a little too tight with the memories, "Armstrong killed Raven in hopes of leaving Kimblee with nothing, except it turned out Bradley had given him absolute authority if Raven went missing." 

_"You want me to set precedent based on something a sociopath and–"_

"Someone who most of this nation, _including the man we're arresting_ , still holds in high esteem?" Ed interrupted, even as he wanted to punch _himself_ for thinking it. "I don't fucking like it _either_ , but if we're gonna have any chance of surprising him and keeping any evidence intact, I need to go straight to him. He's been too fucking cautious to not have some sort of plan to put into play if he realises we're closing in." 

Grumman was quiet for another long moment, then he sighed. _"I need to check some files. Ring me at the last town you can safely do so from before you get in to Central."_

"Fine," Ed bit out. 

Grumman hung up without a by-your-leave, and Ed followed suit. 

He found Evan waiting for him in the hall, wide-eyed and pale, though still looking much better than he had when they'd first got in, which said a lot about how much he'd needed the sleep. "Heinkel said we can go when you're ready," he whispered, twisting his hands together in front of himself. 

Ed sighed and nodded. "Yeah, let's head out, then." 

Evan waited until they were in the car – both himself and Ed seated in the back, while Darius drooped tiredly in the passenger seat and Heinkel looked far too awake in the driver's seat – before asking, "Was that the Führer?" 

Ed closed his eyes and shifted into the familiar almost-comfortable position he usually slept best in while in the car. "Yes." 

Evan was quiet as Heinkel got them onto the road, but then he asked, "Who are Raven and Kimblee?" 

"The fuck'd you hear those names?" Darius demanded, his voice harsh. 

Ed blindly kicked the back of his seat. "From _me_ , fuckwit." Then he opened his eyes and shot Evan – who looked a little skittish – a tired look. "Former Lieutenant General Raven was a member of the command behind everything that went down in Central last year. Major General Armstrong killed him when he told her their plans, then took his position to build up a resistance under their noses. And Solf Kimblee was the Crimson Lotus Alchemist. He was originally these two's commander, and almost killed the three of us when he decided to set off an explosion in an abandoned mine shaft." 

"Oh." Evan shifted in his seat, looking uncertain. "Is he dead, Kimblee?" 

"He'd _better_ be," Heinkel growled, proving that he wasn't any more comfortable with the current topic than Darius was. 

"He's dead," Ed promised, closing his eyes again. "We need to stop in Insselberg so I can ring the bastard again and sort out how, exactly, we're going to manage this whole thing. Until then, shut up and let me sleep." 

Thankfully, they listened. And Ed assumed they'd stopped to get food before they left North City behind, but he was beyond noticing by then. 

-0-

They got in to Insselberg a little too late for politeness' sake, but Ed still rang Grumman's house from a payphone, while Heinkel got them some food and Darius kept the car warm. 

Despite the late hour, Ed was completely unsurprised when Grumman picked up before the second ring. _"Grumman."_

"What did you decide?" Ed returned. 

Grumman sighed. _"Bradley wasn't the first to give executive power to an officer so they could handle a matter that was outside the Führer's reach, but which the officer in question wasn't high enough ranked to handle alone. There have only been three incidents of an officer – always a major and usually a State Alchemist – using their granted power to arrest someone higher ranked than them, two colonels and a lieutenant general."_

Ed stared across the street at shadows moving behind the shuttered windows of a pub. "So we can pull this off." 

_"Lieutenant Colonel Edward Elric,"_ Grumman said, his tone gone formal, and Ed couldn't resist a grimace of distaste, _"you are hereby granted the permission to do **whatever it takes** to bring the leader of this terrorist organisation to justice. As granted by myself, Führer Grumman, and approved by General Bess, Major General Armstrong, and your commanding officer, Brigadier General Mustang."_

"Yes, sir," Ed agreed, largely unsurprised by the list of names; he hadn't expected Bess, but he knew Mustang generally had good things to say about the man, when he was mentioned at all, and it was too late to question Grumman on the decision to bring him into the fold, anyway. 

_"Elric,"_ Grumman added, sounding tired, _"please avoid actually punching or kicking him, unless you have no other option."_

"You just had to go and ruin my fun, didn't you?" Ed complained, mostly because it was expected. 

_"Elric."_

Ed sighed. "Fine. But I reserve the right to punch him once he's been sentenced." 

_"I'll take that under advisement."_

"He'll be in chains by the time you get in in the morning," Ed promised, and he absolutely meant it. 

_"He had best be, or I'll have you demoted."_

"That threat only works if I actually _care_ ," Ed pointed out. "Which I don't, so fuck you." Then he hung up and made his way back to the car. "Scoot over," he ordered Darius, and the chimera immediately shifted over to the passenger's side, leaving the driving to Ed. 

"So?" Darius asked once all the doors were closed and Ed had shifted the car into drive. 

"I've been granted the temporary power to do whatever it takes to bring him in," Ed replied. 

" _Yes_ ," Darius snarled in victory, and Ed glanced into the rear-view mirror in time to see him and Heinkel trading high fives, while Evan's eyes gleamed over a smile that looked a little bloodthirsty; not for the first time, Ed wondered what it had been like, growing up with a father who was always there, but didn't show he cared about his sons. 

(If anything could be said about Hohenheim, it was that he'd at least been willing to give up everything for his sons, in the end.) 

"That said," Ed added drily, "the Führer wants me to resist the urge to actually punch him. At least until after the trial." 

"He didn't specify that last part," Heinkel said. 

"I told him so," Ed admitted. 

Darius and Evan both laughed at that, while Heinkel let out a snort. 

Ed shook his head and glanced at Evan in the rear-view mirror. "Where's your family's home in Central? Which neighbourhood? Heinkel, map." 

"Are you not hungry?" Darius demanded while Heinkel went for their map of Central City. 

Ed responded by holding out a hand, and Darius snorted and handed over a sandwich, while Evan showed Heinkel where he lived on the map. Heinkel relayed directions that any of Ed's team could follow without too much trouble, familiar enough with Central's streets, and Ed started setting out the plan that was forming in his head between bites. 

Everything was ready to go, once they got into the city.

.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of trouble with the end of last chapter and the whole arrest and everything, honestly. Because I've known for chapters who was involved – kudos, btw, to everyone who guessed Evan – and how Ed was going to find out and all of that, but I never quite sorted the actual act of handling this giant clusterfuck. Whoops? I hope it's not nearly as cringe-worthy as I felt it was while writing the damn thing.

They made it into Central shortly after four in the morning, Darius driving because he was better with tricky manoeuvres, and Heinkel sitting in the passenger seat because he was the better shot, and Ed wanted them in their strongest non-chimera positions, should things go completely to shit. Evan was sitting in the back seat with Ed, taking deep, even breaths to help calm his nerves, while Ed found himself rubbing his thumb over the scars of his lighter, letting the familiar shape settle him. 

"That one," Evan said quietly, breaking the tense silence of the car, and Ed slipped his lighter away and pulled on the glove he'd removed as he looked out at the large house Evan was pointing at. It was suitably impressive for a member of the brass with a family, at least twice as large as Grumman's townhouse, though it had the same tiny front garden that most homes inside Central's city limits boasted. It was dark enough outside that most people would want lights on to move around, if they were awake, and the Beardmore house had lights on on the ground floor. "Kitchen and dining room," Evan offered before Ed could ask. "House staff, mostly. My father should be up by now, eating breakfast, but Mother and Kenny won't be." 

Ed nodded in understanding; that didn't really change any of his plans, but it helped to know that their prey would be relatively secluded from the rest of the household. "Good." 

Darius rolled to a stop the next house past their target, shutting off the lights, but not the car properly. Ed knocked his shoulder with a fist as he shoved his door open, and Darius muttered, "Don't get shot." 

"I'll try to remember that," Ed retorted before he stood and quietly closed his door. 

Heinkel and Evan had also both got out, and Ed and Heinkel followed Evan to the edge of the fence surrounding his family's home. There, Heinkel stopped, his gun drawn, while Ed followed Evan to the front door, which the private unlocked with his key before stepping inside and leading the way to the dining room. 

This had been his choice, letting his father know who had betrayed him, and Ed respected that, even if it made him more than a little nervous. 

"Evan?" a male voice called, sounding surprised, as he stopped in the doorway of what must have been the dining room. 

Ed stopped next to Evan in the doorway, barely glanced at the stately room before focussing on the man seated at the head of the table on the far end of the room: dark hair receding, not quite portly, but clearly not in shape, either; Ed had seen Beardmore in person twice before, at the funeral and the memorial, and he still couldn't see the family resemblance to Evan, even with the man's expressionless mask broken, his eyes widening with disbelief. 

And then, before Ed could hope to say anything, fury bled across Beardmore's features and he stood, levelling a gun that Ed hadn't seen him pull on his son. "You little _traitor_ ," he snarled. 

Ed stepped forward, placing himself in between Evan and his father, because there was no fucking way he was going to let a member of his squad be shot. "You had best hope that's a headshot, Beardmore," he said, his voice hard, "because I guarantee that nothing less will stop me from seeing you face a firing squad." 

"Put it _down_ , Father," Evan added from behind Ed. There was a faint tremor in his voice, but he sounded more determined than anything else, and Ed wouldn't have been surprised to find him pointing his service revolver at his father around Ed. 

Beardmore's jaw clenched and he slowly set his gun on the table before raising his hands in a show of surrender. "What are you intending to do, Elric?" he demanded, very obviously going for a mocking tone, but far too stiff to pull it off. " _You_ may not respect the chain of command–"

"Oh, you're right, I don't," Ed agreed, starting around the table, his hands held close enough together that he could clap and activate an array before Beardmore would be able to pick up and aim his gun. "But Amestris has a rather helpful history of her Führer giving executive power to officers when they're needed to handle something above their command." He smiled widely, didn't even try pretending it was anything other than mean. "Even your _precious_ Bradley did so, giving the Crimson Lotus Alchemist the power to overrule Armstrong up in Briggs." 

He stopped next to Beardmore – who had stiffened in that way that soldiers did when they realised they were fucked – and picked up the man's gun. "There is a piece of paper floating around Central Command somewhere," Ed continued, "which gives me the power to do whatever it takes to hunt down and drag in the fucker responsible for feeding information to those terrorist groups. Information like where my team was while we were in the west and north, the names of the soldiers who helped us bring down larger groups, and my birthday and the fact that my best friend lived close enough to the Rush Valley station, that a train exploding would probably kill her." 

From the doorway, someone drew in a sharp breath, even as Beardmore spat, "It's a shame they _missed_."

Ed stepped up behind Beardmore, grabbing his hands and roughly yanking his wrists together behind his back. "Major General Rodrick Beardmore," he said, recalling back to the wording Heinkel had walked him through in the car en route, forcing his voice to remain flat, to not show any of the rage he felt at the proof that Winry had been the target of that bomb, "I'm placing you under arrest for the crime of conspiring with terrorists against the military and the people of Amestris, which includes, but is not limited to: passing confidential documents or the information held within said documents to enemies of Amestris, supplying the enemies of Amestris with military weaponry, pointing the enemies of Amestris at specific military or civilian targets, and plotting with the intent to commit treason against Führer Grumman." He clapped his hands together and transmuted the gun into a particularly tight pair of cuffs that only alchemy would be able to remove from the fucker. 

"I wasn't the one to start this, Elric," Beardmore snarled. 

"Start walking, or I swear I'll drag you out of here by what little hair you have remaining," Ed shot back, gripping the fucker's forearm tight enough to bruise. 

Beardmore obediently started walking, his head held high. 

Ed stopped him in the doorway, where he found that a woman in a dressing gown and another woman wearing an apron with old food stains on the front had joined Evan. "Evan," he called, and the private left off glaring at his father to look at Ed. "Please gather the household and keep them away from wherever your father was most likely to keep his documents. I'll send Heinkel in to help you." 

Evan nodded. "Sure thing." 

Ed pushed Beardmore to get him moving again, but before he could go far, the woman wearing the dressing gown lightly touched his shoulder and quickly withdrew her hand to clasp it with her other one against her chest when he looked at her. "What about us?" she asked quietly. "What about my children and me?" 

Evan clearly took after his mother, for they shared the same wide nose and thin lips. "So long as there's no evidence of your involvement and you don't hamper my investigations, nothing. Should you, yourself, be found guilty, care of your youngest son will be given to whichever of his brothers is most able to support him and also uninvolved." Because Evan's youngest brother wasn't eighteen yet, and even the military would be hard-pressed to pin much on a minor if both he and his mother insisted he was forced into any involvement. 

"And if all of my elder sons are found to be involved?" she asked. 

"Evan isn't." Just like he'd told Grumman that Wackett and Gloria were uninvolved in the Dublith group, no matter what any of those fuckers said, he would stand between the military and Evan and keep his squad member well out of range of any firing squads. 

She swallowed and nodded, something very like gratitude in her eyes, then stepped back, giving him clear permission to carry on removing her husband without further hindrance. 

Ed sent Heinkel in to help Evan in keeping the household in order, then shoved Beardmore to the waiting car and directed Darius to drive them to the prison. 

He scowled at the prison addition being built where lab five had been as they got out of the car; he'd heard about that while he'd been in the south – given the influx of terrorist prisoners, they'd needed the space – and had immediately set about writing Grumman a nasty note to send with his next report, only for Heinkel to confiscate it while Darius thoroughly distracted Ed. And then, because his team sucked, they'd sat him down, dragged the full story out of him, and then laid out the arguments for using the abandoned lot for a prison addition, forcing him to see the sense, even if it did still make him, in turns, sick and furious. 

"Not the time, Ed," Darius reminded him as he took over directing Beardmore, since he could actually see over the fucker's shoulders. (And his head, unnaturally tall arsehole that he was.) 

Ed huffed and led the way into the prison, pulling out his pocket watch to serve as proof of who he was, should he need it. 

He didn't – the guard at the entrance recognised him – and Grumman had sent ahead orders that Ed would be bringing in a prisoner that morning, and he was to be placed in one of their most secure cells and held until the trial, despite any complaints he might make or what anyone thought of him. And there was definitely some surprise at Ed dragging in a major general, but the prison guards kept any opinions to themselves and it was, in all, a fairly uneventful drop off. 

Before he left, Ed peered at Beardmore through the window of his cell and asked, "Do you want to tell me where the evidence I need is? I'll find it either way, make no mistake, but you're welcome to prove you're not completely without any honour." 

Beardmore turned his back on him. 

Ed shrugged and left him, not having any interest in wasting any more time than was necessary dragging answers out of a man who clearly had no intention in giving them to him. 

They went back to the Beardmore home and, between Evan's familiarity with his father, the chimeras' heightened senses, and Ed's own alchemy bypassing any locks or traps, it didn't take them long to find all the evidence they could possibly need. They also found names and positions for a number of terrorist groups all over the nation, as well as a list of military members in Beardmore's pocket, and the growl of victory Heinkel let out when he found those lists actually made the hair at the back of Ed's neck stand up, even as he put on a ferocious smile at the break they'd just been handed. 

At around six-thirty, a handful of MPs showed up with orders from Grumman to keep the household under house arrest, which Mrs Beardmore bore stoically, even as her youngest son chafed at the fact that he was stuck indoors because of his father. When Ed, his team, and Evan left for Command a little after eight – after they'd all changed into uniform, because Ed had no interest in rehashing that argument with Grumman – he had to argue Evan's inclusion with the major in charge, but his word that he would accept responsibility for the private got them past. 

When Ed led the way into Grumman's outer office with his usual lack of decorum, the absolute last thing he'd expected was for Second Lieutenant Days to stand from her desk and lead the rest of the office in a round of applause. So, naturally, he stopped just inside as the noise washed over him and sort of stared around at them in disbelief. 

Grumman appeared in the doorway of his inner office, wearing that punch-worthy smirk, and that shook Ed from his shock enough for him to point at the bastard and snarl, "Shut the fuck up." Which had the added bonus of stopping the applause, but he was beginning to suspect Grumman's staff was becoming as inured to his manner as Mustang's team had, because he didn't get any of the familiar disapproving glares. 

Grumman's smirk just widened. "Come through, Lieutenant Colonel," he ordered, before stepping back into his office. 

Ed sighed and jerked his head at his team and Evan, then led the way into the inner office. When Grumman raised an eyebrow at Evan, who brought up the rear of the group, Ed suggested, "Next time I tell you I trust my squad, don't fucking question me." 

Grumman leant back in his chair, one hand smoothing over his moustache and fully hiding his mouth. "Please close the door, Private Beardmore." 

"Sir!" Evan replied with a stiff salute, before doing so. 

Ed sighed as Evan joined him on one of the couches, the chimeras taking up the other. "We need to work on your response to authority," Ed complained to him. 

Across from him, Darius snickered and Heinkel shook his head. 

"What have you got for me, Lieutenant Colonel?" Grumman interrupted, before Evan could do more than look slightly horrified at the suggestion that he would ever be anything other than respectful to the Führer. 

Ed flashed the bastard a sharp smile. "Incriminating documents, a list of those members of the military in his pockets, and positions of groups that we haven't corralled yet." 

Grumman's eyes gleamed and he leant forward over his desk. "Well then," he said, his voice taking on dark tones, "I guess I won't be demoting you after all." 

"Seriously, sir, go fuck yourself," Ed retorted as he tossed the folder of documents onto the desk, then settled back against the uncomfortable couch. (He wondered if the bastard was in a good enough mood to let him fix them? Probably not. More likely, they were kept uncomfortable to torment visitors other than Ed, like members of the brass.) 

Grumman opened the folder and started leafing through the papers. "Did you find anything on the other Beardmores?" 

"Nothing explicit," Ed allowed. "Given how Evan found out, I wouldn't be surprised to discover his elder brothers have been warned away from areas where a large attack was due to take place, but I'm not inclined to hold any lack of reporting the warning against them. That said, if the tribunal doesn't try making connections, I'll be shocked." 

"They're not on this list?" Grumman asked, holding up the list of military personal that Beardmore had in his pocket. 

"They weren't when we found it," Ed returned, because he had no interest in playing word games with the bastard. "Nothing in that folder has been altered in any way." 

Grumman nodded and set that paper and the four under it to one side. "I'll see this information disseminated and the named members of the military brought to Central for trial. Private Beardmore." 

"Sir?" 

Grumman motioned to the phone on his desk. "Unless you would prefer to leave the matter to myself, this is your chance to ring your brothers and inform them of current events. They were both confined to their dorms this morning, but the only reason passed on to their commanding officers was that they were related to an active military investigation." 

Evan swallowed. "Could I use a different phone, sir? One not–" he motioned to the phone on Grumman's desk. "You might get an important call, and I wouldn't want to hold up the line." 

Grumman's moustache twitched. "You may use one of the phones out in the office." 

As Evan got up to do so with a salute, Ed glanced at Darius and raised an eyebrow. The man sighed, but obediently stood and followed Evan with a dry, "I hate babysitting duty." 

"I will kick you somewhere unfortunate if you don't shut the fuck up," Ed called after him, and Darius flashed a smile over his shoulder before he closed the office door behind himself and Evan. 

Grumman started going through the paperwork with one hand and picking up and dialling the phone with the other, asking occasional questions between ringing the various commands and ordering their commanders arrest the names on the list, or gather a squad to take out a local group. 

He took a break to discuss the trial with them, once Evan and Darius had returned, kindly giving Evan the chance to step back and leave just the evidence they'd gathered to pin his father, but Evan held firm that he would stand against him at Ed's side. 

Finally, Grumman nodded and admitted, "That should be all, for the moment. I'll contact you with information about the trial as it comes in." 

Ed and his people all stood, the other three saluting formally, while Ed just gave a nod. "You know our hotel," he said. 

Grumman's moustache twitched. "Indeed," he agreed, having already ascertained that Evan would be remaining with Ed and his team, rather than his family's home, until the trial was over. As they turned to leave, however, the Führer called, "Lieutenant Colonel." 

Ed glanced back at him. "What?" 

"Think on where you'll go once the trial is over," Grumman suggested as he picked up his phone's handset to continue going through his list. "With this information, I won't need you hunting for whispers." 

"We're going to Ishval," Ed said, without even having to think about it, and Grumman glanced at him, one eyebrow raising. "Don't bullshit me, bastard. The _only_ reason I've been fucking around the country is because there wasn't anyone else to do your dirty work. If you're done using me, I'm going back to my fucking commander." 

Grumman snorted. "Fine. If you'd rather return to being the brigadier general's problem, I won't stop you. Do _try_ not to get sent back to me too quickly." 

"Go fuck yourself, sir," was Ed's retort, before he jerked his head at Heinkel, and the man finally opened the door to the outer office and led the way out. 

-0-

They'd stopped for lunch on their way to the hotel, which may or may not have been a good choice, as it seemed to serve as the last straw on all of their backs, after the long few days, and they were all dragging a bit as they grabbed their things from the car and started into the hotel. 

After they'd got their key – one room, because it was easier to keep track of everyone that way, and they were all far too tired to worry about sharing the beds between the four of them – Ed stopped at the sight of the public phone and sighed, because there was one person who really needed to know that everything had worked out, and Grumman wasn't likely to ring him, not with the pile of work Ed had just handed over. "Go on up," he ordered when the others looked back at him. "I need to make a call." 

Darius grabbed his suitcase from him without a word, and the others continued upstairs, while Ed walked over to the phone and started dialling. 

_"Ishval Command,"_ Fuery offered cheerfully when he picked up. 

Ed managed a tired smile. "Hey, Fuery." 

_"Ed!"_ Fuery recognised, and a rush of noise came through from the other end. _"Shut up for a minute!"_ he ordered with a laugh, clearly aimed at whoever was in the room with him. _"The chief'll be back in a minute, Ed. How're you doing? Everyone's been a bit on edge since we got the warning from your private, and then with the Führer ringing through yesterday..."_

Ed snorted, but didn't argue that claim of ownership; it was more than clear where Evan's loyalties lay, at this point. "It has been a fucking long couple of days, but we got the break we needed. Trial's soon. Next week, I expect." 

_"The trial-trial?"_ Fuery asked, and Ed could practically _hear_ the held breath of everyone on the other end. 

"The one where we put the mastermind away for good," he agreed. 

_"They did it!"_ Fuery said, clearly to the rest of the room, and the cheer that came over the line was even more rewarding than the moment they'd found the hidden evidence. 

_"Congratulations, Fullmetal,"_ Mustang said, clearly having taken the phone from Fuery. 

Ed closed his eyes, felt somewhere between drained and elated, and he bowed forward a bit, almost curling around the handset. "When this is over, is it okay if I come home?" he asked, only to realise what he said after it was too late to stop himself, and he really hoped Mustang assumed he meant Resembool, didn't realise that Ed's tired mind had stupidly started to equate 'home' with the fucking bastard, for reasons that Ed...didn't really want to examine. Ever. He hurriedly corrected, "I mean–"

_"I think,"_ Mustang interrupted, his voice gentle, _"that Ishval is stable enough for you to visit for a few months."_

Ed swallowed down a block in his throat; okay, so Mustang _had_ realised what he meant, inasmuch as he assumed Ed meant Ishval, hopefully not that he'd meant _Mustang_. "Kay. I've gotta– I promised to get a bit lost, first, take the wrong train or whatever, but I– We'll–"

_"We're not going anywhere,"_ Mustang promised. _"We'll leave a light on for you."_

"Thanks," Ed whispered and, fuck. This shit was why his brain had decided Mustang was fucking _home_ , he just knew it. Fucking bastard and his stupid nice face. 

_"Go get some sleep, Ed. You sound like you need it."_

"You're not wrong," Ed admitted. "The others already went up, but I knew I should let you know that everything's good and we're coming h–" Oh, he was not doing that again. Seriously, where was his brain-to-mouth filter today? "That we're coming out there, and–"

_"Go. To. Sleep,"_ Mustang interrupted, sounding far too amused. _"Don't make me ring Gracia and have her put you to bed."_

Ed snorted, because she totally would. "Fine, fine, I'm going. Night, Roy." 

_"Good afternoon, Ed,"_ Mustang returned, and Ed _knew_ he was laughing at him, now. 

"Bastard," Ed complained, and it came out way too fond, so he quickly hung up and rubbed a hand over his face. "Ugh. Hate him so much," he muttered, even though he didn't. Didn't hate him even a little bit, any more. As if that wasn't patently obvious. 

He shook himself and dragged himself upstairs to their room. Didn't even bother knocking, since he expected everyone had already crashed, just alchemised the lock open, let himself in, and locked it back up the normal way. Evan had ended up bunking with Heinkel – probably the wiser choice; Darius tended to get a bit grabby in his sleep – and Ed undressed down to his boxers and vest, then crawled into bed next to Darius, only for the arsehole to immediately hug him close. 

Ed elbowed him. "Not yer fuckin' teddy bear," he muttered, and Darius huffed a quiet laugh into his hair. Ed sighed and gave in to the inevitable; if Evan woke first and asked any awkward questions, he'd weather them then. 

-0-

As it turned out, Evan's questions had nothing to do with Ed's relationship with his team, but rather, his relationship with his CO. 

"What's up with Brigadier General Mustang?" he'd opened with, and Ed just sort of blinked at him from over his breakfast – which was actually breakfast, because they'd all been exhausted enough to sleep until way too fucking early the next morning. "I mean, you complain about him all the time and you always call him names, but you... You were okay with being _his_ dog, and when Grumman asked–"

"Ah," Ed said intelligently, before shoving another forkful into his mouth and hurriedly swallowing it. "You have to realise, when I joined the military and got tossed into Mustang's command, I wasn't inclined to even _pretend_ I cared about authority." 

"And that's changed how?" Darius offered as his two cenz. 

Ed elbowed him. "You can shut up," he ordered, before looking back at Evan, who looked amused by either the byplay or Ed's comments. Or both. "Insulting Mustang and bitching about him to... Okay, pretty much everyone, that's how I sort of proved I wasn't doing anything for him, but because it served me." 

"Surprisingly introspective," Heinkel said mildly. 

"You can shut up, too," he ordered, and Darius snorted into his food, while Heinkel very pointedly took a large bite. "You both fucking suck. Arseholes." 

Evan snorted and, when Ed shot him a scowl, ducked his head, as though that was sufficient to hide the wide grin he was wearing. 

Ed rolled his eyes and huffed. "The rest of it..." He shrugged a bit. "When things went to shit two years ago, he gave me a good reason to trust him, and he hasn't let me down yet." He glanced back down at his food, offered, "He's a good commander, when he's not being a lazy bastard, and he fucking _cares_ about the people under him. Too much, sometimes." 

"So he's like you," Evan suggested. "He'd step in the path of a gun, take a bullet to protect one of his own." 

Ed remembered a rainy day when he'd bowed to death and Mustang had offered himself up as a target in his stead; remembered his guilt over Hawkeye's wounds in hospital; remembered, above all else, what Hawkeye had told him, the night that they became aware of just how far the rot had spread through the country: That Mustang would climb to the top so he could protect as many people as possible, and then he would give Amestris' people the power to protect themselves. "If he could," he said simply, quietly. 

Evan stared at him for a moment, then nodded. "Okay." 

Ed took another bite, debating with himself, before he finally added, "Not that I'm going to let him get in the way of any bullets. I really don't want to have to tell his niece he got his fool-self shot." Because it wouldn't take Evan long to discover Mustang's relationship with the Hugheses, with Ed wanting him to stick with a member of his team, not unless he decided to avoid the Hugheses entirely. Which, yeah, _no_. He could never do that to Elicia. 

Evan blinked, while Darius started laughing. "Niece?" 

Ed flashed him a smile. "My sister." 

Evan's eyes went wide. "He–"

"Same relation," Ed added, because his whole squad knew he wasn't actually related to the Hugheses. Then he narrowed his eyes at the private. "That stays off military lines." 

Evan straightened and saluted him. "Yes, sir!" 

Ed scowled and punched Darius when he failed to muffle his amusement. "What have I told you about calling me sir?" 

"Not to, sir!" 

Ed just closed his eyes and groaned. 

-0-

Elicia was, of course, ecstatic to have Ed home for the weekend, and meeting another one of his friends was also awesome in her book. Gracia, too, was clearly happy to see him, though she did ask, "Did something happen? You're back sooner than we'd expected." Because the last two times Ed had come back to the city hadn't been happy occasions, and if the papers had got wind of Beardmore's arrest, they didn't know enough to connect it with the terrorist attacks. 

Ed smiled and shook his head. "We caught a break. Gotta be in Central for the trial." 

Elicia clearly didn't understand, but Gracia's eyes filled with tears and she drew Ed into a tight hug, whispering, "Congratulations." 

It was a different sort of congratulations from the team out in Ishval cheering over the phone line, less a celebration of a victory and more a warm sense of accomplishment, like the first time he'd shown Mum his attempts with alchemy. He hugged her back and couldn't bring himself to care how rough his voice sounded as he whispered, "Thanks." 

"What happened?" Elicia asked. 

"Your big brother caught the bad guy," Evan offered, and it was probably for the best that Darius and Heinkel had begged off this visit, because Ed didn't really want to hear Darius' commentary. 

Elicia had cheered, and Ed had ended up having to pull away from Gracia so he could pick Elicia up and get a sloppy kiss on his cheek, which led to him twirling her around in the middle of the living room while she squealed and held on for dear life – as if Ed would ever drop her – while Gracia and Evan both laughed at them. 

After Elicia had calmed down a bit and settled for colouring with Evan while he obediently regaled her with tales of the daring princes Beardmore (stories from his own childhood, Ed suspected), Ed left them to 'help' Gracia with the celebratory pie she'd decided they needed. (Which really involved a lot of stealing tastes while she pretended she wasn't watching him.) 

"Does this mean you're going to be back here for a while?" Gracia asked as she turned to get something out of the refrigerator. 

"Probably just through the trials," Ed admitted once he'd pulled his sticky finger from his mouth. "Grumman said I could get out to Ishval. _Finally_."

Gracia let out a quiet laugh. "Oh dear. Does Roy know you're coming?" 

"Yeah, rang him yesterday to let him know. He said it should be okay for a couple months." Ed gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "What does he think I'm going to do, start collapsing buildings on people for the sheer amusement factor?" 

"Well..." 

"Don't listen to his lies," Ed insisted, failing to hide a grin, and her laughter was far louder that time. 

"What?! What?!" Elicia called, dashing into the kitchen with crayons in her hands and sliding (purposefully, by her stance) on the linoleum a bit, her socked feet lacking traction. (Ed suspected she'd picked that up from Al, who'd been in the habit of mocking Ed by sliding past him when they were both walking in the kitchen, as Ed rarely wore a sock on his automail, since it just destroyed them.) 

"Your Uncle Roy is a lying liar and your mum believes him," Ed complained, which didn't seem to help Gracia's amusement any. 

Elicia blinked at that. "Why's he lying?" 

"He's going around telling people I only exist to make trouble for him." 

Elicia blinked again, then pointed her crayons at him. "Not a lie!" she sing-songed, before giggling. 

Ed gave a dramatic gasp. "No! He got to you, too? How _could_ he?!" 

Elicia rushed forward and hugged his legs. "I still love you!" 

"Oh, well, I suppose that's okay, then." 

Gracia snorted. "Why don't you take your big brother to colour with you before he eats all my filling." 

"It's good filling, though, right?" Ed said to Elicia, who giggled and nodded before looking hopefully towards the worktop. 

Shaking her head, Gracia pulled out a small spoon and scooped out a bit of filling, then handed it down to Elicia. "Go, shoo." 

Laughing, Ed let himself be led to the living room by an extremely smug Elicia with a spoon in her mouth, and they joined Evan on the floor around the coffee table. "Wanna see me colour a page really, really fast?" Ed asked as he collected one of the sheets and started picking through the worn crayons; he'd very likely end up buying her more at some point over the next couple days. 

" 'Ow faf?" Elicia asked around her spoon, leaning forward. 

"So fast," Ed promised, setting his chosen crayons on the page and the box to the side. "Ridiculously fast." 

Elicia finally pulled the spoon from her mouth, her eyes lighting up. "Super crazy madness fast?" she suggested, and Evan coughed into one hand, grinning. 

Ed grinned at her. "Super crazy _awesome_ madness fast," he insisted, before clapping his hands together and activating an array to disperse the crayon wax into the right spots in the image. 

Elicia's eyes went wide and she immediately grabbed the picture once the transmutation light died down, sending the remains of the crayons flying across the table and floor. " _Amazing_ ," she breathed. 

Next to her, Evan looked pretty impressed himself. 

"Fast enough for you, Princess?" Ed asked as he picked up some of the fallen crayons, feeling quite smug; he'd never actually tried that before, but he'd seen an array in Colourway's notes for doing that with paint, and it wasn't hard to adapt it for using with coloured wax. 

"Do it with me!" Elicia demanded, grabbing another picture and scrambling around the table, shoving at Ed until he shifted back enough for her to sit in his lap. 

Ed snorted and leant forward, over her shoulder. "Do it with you, huh?" he asked, pulling over the crayon box and tilting it towards her. "Pick out your colours." 

She did so, telling him exactly where she wanted each one as she placed it. As soon as she was sufficiently pleased with her decisions, she held her hands over the picture. "Okay, now we do alchemy!" she declared. 

Grinning, Ed caught her hands and clapped them together, making sure his own hands touched enough to form the necessary circle, then pressed their hands down on the picture. 

As soon as it was done, she picked it up and scrambled out of Ed's lap, heading towards the kitchen as she called, "Mama! Mama! I did alchemy!" 

Ed snorted and set about cleaning up the mess of crayons again. Colouring with alchemy used up more of the crayons than just doing it by hand, apparently; he really would have to buy her a new set. 

"That's a pretty cool trick," Evan offered, sounding like he meant it. 

Ed grinned and shook his head. "Ultimately useless for anything other than amusing her, but we need alchemy like that, I think. Something that's sole purpose is to amaze people, make them smile." 

"Are you going to teach her?" Evan asked, jerking his head towards where they could hear Elicia chattering proudly at her mother in the kitchen, and Ed suspected Gracia was trying to find the tape so they could put the picture up somewhere. "Properly, I mean." 

He snorted. "Make no mistake, if she's got the talent, she's gonna talk one of us – Mustang or my brother or me – into teaching her, but probably not for a good few years, yet." He sighed and slumped against the table. "Maybe Al will have learnt alkahestry by then and he can teach her _that_ , instead. It's more healing arts focussed." 

"Trying to keep her away from the military?" Evan guessed. 

"I will 'lose' her application or alchemy exam if she tries it," Ed muttered, and Evan snickered. 

"Big brother!" Elicia called, dashing back into the room with a new colouring-in book, one with a horse on the front. "Mama says we have to do a horse for Uncle Roy!" 

Ed grinned. "Your mum is awesome," he insisted, and she giggled as she climbed back into his lap and started flipping through the book. "We're running a little low on normal horse colours, though." 

Elicia paused in her flipping to consider her crayons. "Pink," she decided, before going back to finding the perfect picture. 

"You're pretty awesome yourself," Ed offered, trying very hard not to laugh, while Evan shook his head in disbelief on the other side of the table. "Should we name it after him?" 

Elicia shot him a _look_. "Of course." 

"You are going to get charred," Evan pointed out as Ed chortled and hugged the girl in his lap. 

"Oh, but it's going to be _so_ worth it," Ed insisted, before leaning forward to help Elicia tear the page from her book. 

And, yeah, looking at the finished product – a pink horse with a flowing red and orange mane and purple hooves, Mustang's name printed along the top of the page in bright green – Ed was absolutely going to get it when he handed this over, but at least he'd die laughing. 

-0-

As soon as the press heard about the trials, they became an _Event_ , and Ed found himself disgustingly grateful for how ridiculously over-sized his team was, because Darius and Heinkel could easily shove people out of their way, could bracket Evan and get him away from the flashing camera bulbs and the chattering reporters while Ed stood behind them, casting around his best unimpressed stare until the vultures shut the fuck up. And then he turned around and followed his people in, because he was looking at between two days and a week's worth of sitting in a courtroom, playing at respect for the line of brass who didn't want to believe one of their own had been plotting treason since shortly after the Promised Day, and he did not have the patience to deal with the press on top of everything else. 

Second Lieutenant Days met him just inside the doors, looking as strained as Ed felt. "Thank you for not making a scene," she said as she fell into step with him, motioning to the right to indicate where they were headed. 

"If they're there tomorrow, I make no promises," Ed returned. 

"I'll show you a back way in after we're done today." 

Ed glanced at her, torn between suspicion and gratitude. "Fine," he decided, and thought he saw her smile before they were waved into the courtroom and separated to go to their designated seats. 

"Did you make a scene?" Darius murmured as he sat down. 

"I'm saving it until I have specific generals to bitch about." 

Heinkel groaned, while Darius and Evan both let out strained laughs. 

"Apparently, there's a back door. If they've managed to keep the vultures away from it, we may just survive this mummer's play without me getting court-martialled." 

"A true miracle," Heinkel muttered. 

"Fuck off." 

Then Grumman called them to order and Ed and his team shut up. 

-0-

In the end, the trial took three days, which was both better and worse than Grumman's original assessment. The back door did turn out to be free of press, so Ed didn't get the chance to insult any of the generals, which Heinkel was clearly relieved about. (Actually, by the last morning, it was clear Ed and his party were the only ones using the back entrance, which left him suspecting Grumman had set it up just to keep Ed from causing trouble. Which, well, Ed appreciated the reprieve from the press – for Evan's sake, if not his own – enough that he couldn't quite muster up sufficient irritation to call the bastard out.) 

The only hold-out ended up being Lieutenant General Peabody, who – according to Evan – had been quite fond of the eldest of the Beardmore brothers while he'd been stationed in South City before the Promised Day, and so was likely dragging things out due to misplaced fondness. That said, it was clear he was only barely clinging to his stance by the time they broke for lunch on the third day, and when he came back, he'd given in entirely, which wrapped the mess up quite nicely. 

As soon as the verdict was handed down, Ed stood and, looking straight at Grumman, demanded, "Nothing I do now is going to change his sentencing, right?" 

Grumman sighed and waved a helpless hand in a 'go ahead' gesture. 

"What's he–?" one of the other generals asked as Ed stalked over to where Beardmore was being helped to his feet by a couple of MPs. 

"Move," Ed ordered, and they both stepped hurriedly out of the way. 

Beardmore smiled at him. "And what do you intend to do, dog?" 

Ed didn't smile back. "Exactly what I promised Evan when he came to me." Then he drew back his fist and punched the fucker in the face. There came the satisfying sound of something breaking, and Beardmore fell back against the retaining wall and crumpled to the floor, looking rather like he couldn't believe that had just happened, while blood started running from his nose. 

He wasn't the only one, as the rest of the room had fallen deathly silent as Ed turned, offered the Führer a mocking salute, then looked at his team and Evan and jerked his head towards the door. They fell in around him obediently, Evan wearing the widest fucking grin Ed had ever seen on his face, while the two chimeras brought up the rear. 

"Lieutenant Colonel," Grumman called before they could exit. 

Ed stopped and spun, turning his best glare on the bastard once Heinkel was out of the way. 

"I expect to see all four of you in my office tomorrow morning." 

"If you, for one _fucking second_ , think–" Ed started. 

Grumman levelled a flat stare on him. "Seven hundred hours tomorrow, Lieutenant Colonel." 

Ed snarled and stormed out of the room, the others hurrying to follow him. "Fucking bastard and his stupid lying fucking face," he muttered, didn't even bother fighting when Heinkel very firmly took hold of his shoulders and steered him to the back entrance, avoiding any chance of letting Ed near the press when he was in a temper. (Always a wise choice.) 

"He's not going to punish Ed for punching my father, is he?" Evan asked, sounding worried. 

"I really hope not," Darius replied, a hint of irritation in his voice. "And I'm not just saying that because I don't want to deal with Ed in a temper." 

"We'll go pull Elicia out of pre-school," Heinkel announced. "Gracia will understand." 

Ed deflated slightly. "I'm going to punch that bastard in the face one of these days," he complained. 

"You're going to punch him when he retires," Heinkel reminded him. 

"Gonna punch him before that." 

"No, you're not. You're going to have fun with your sister today and report to the Führer's office tomorrow with your good soldier face on." 

"And then we'll lose whatever orders he passes on and just make for Ishval anyway," Darius offered. 

"Not. _Helping_ ," Heinkel hissed. 

But Ed perked up at that point, feeling rather more cheered. "Right. Short of clapping me in irons, there's nothing he can do to make me dance to his tune." 

Heinkel sighed. "I don't want to end up on the AWOL list again." 

"Technically," Darius pointed out, "you and I were on the 'Missing, Assumed Dead' list; Ed was the one who went AWOL." 

"You're the least helpful partner I've ever had." 

"I try." 

Ed rolled his eyes and pulled open the door of the car. "Right. Back to the hotel to change, then breaking Elicia out of pre-school, then ice cream." 

"It's too cold for ice cream," Evan pointed out, because it was the first of November and expectedly cold. 

"Elicia and her uncle would disagree with you," Ed informed him, before ducking into the car. 

(It turned out it was a little too cold out for ice cream in the park, but they all ate it anyway, laughing through the chill.) 

-0-

Bright and early the next morning, Ed, his team, and Evan made their way up to Grumman's office. Someone had left the door to the outer office open, which meant Ed couldn't kick it open, which just made him twice as cross as he had been. 

"He's waiting for you," Days said from her desk, not even bothering to look up. 

Grumman's inner office door was also open, keeping Ed from announcing his entrance as loudly as possible, and he found the reason for that standing with Grumman before his desk: General Bess, and Lieutenant Generals Peabody and Spencer were all in attendance. 

Ed stopped across the coffee table from the lot, holding out one arm to stop Evan from taking what was becoming his regular place at Ed's side, making sure the private stayed behind him. "What do you want? Sir," he asked, forced his tone flat, rather than the demand he'd wanted to make, because he really had no fucking clue what was going on here, and he didn't know the other generals well enough to guess how they'd react to his usual lack of deference. (Some military sort took it in stride, others took time to get used to him, and a few were just way too fucking uptight.) 

Grumman let out his punch-worthy laugh. "You're not in any trouble, Lieutenant Colonel, not this time." And, before Ed could comment on how much his jokes sucked, Grumman ordered, "Line up." 

Ed set his jaw and dropped his arm, let Evan fall in at his side. Heinkel stepped up to Ed's other side, while Darius took Evan's other side. And, no lie, Ed was really fucking glad his team was there; as much as he trusted Grumman not to turn into a threat, it would always be reassuring to have the two arseholes at his side, especially when he had someone else to protect with him. 

(Fucking shadows; he was never this paranoid before Grumman dragged him into this mess. Or was he? Perhaps Bradley and the Dwarf in the Flask were the real culprits behind his paranoia. After all, they were the ones who'd been willing to take hostages to enforce compliance.) 

Grumman and the generals all picked up, off Grumman's desk, boxes that Ed was familiar with, had received one very similar to while he'd been in hospital after the Promised Day, once everything had been sorted and the new command could sit down long enough to pass out the awards to those soldiers who had earned them. And the sight didn't really relax Ed any, but at least now he knew for sure that Grumman hadn't been lying about them not being in trouble.

"Lieutenant Colonel Edward Elric, Second Lieutenants Heinkel Potez and Darius Wright, Private Evan Beardmore," Grumman said, his tone formal, and Ed sensed more than saw his team and Evan straightening, "in recognition of your service to Amestris in apprehending the terrorist organisation headed by Rodrick Beardmore, I, George Grumman, the Führer of Amestris, bestow upon you the honours for meritorious service. 

"Additionally, in recognition of their continued exemplary service, I am promoting both Second Lieutenants Potez and Wright to first lieutenant–" okay, Ed could totally get behind that "–and granting both them and Lieutenant Colonel Elric the Distinguished Service Cross, for going above and beyond the call of duty while hunting the terrorist organisation." Grumman paused there, an expectant look on his face, and Ed sighed and joined the other three in saluting the bastard, actually being fucking serious about it, for once. Grumman and the three generals saluted them back and, as they dropped their hands, all started across the room. 

Given he was the tallest of the generals, Spencer was the one to approach Darius, while Bess – the next tallest – went to Heinkel. Evan ended up with Peabody, and Ed got, of course, Grumman. 

"You're a bastard, sir," Ed muttered as the man expertly added his new honours and medal to the line on Ed's chest. 

Grumman's eyes gleamed. "If this keeps up, Lieutenant Colonel, I'll have to promote you again." 

"Kindly resist the urge until I'm eighteen, at least." 

"Perhaps," Grumman said, amusement clear in his voice, "Ishval is the best place for you for a while." He stepped back, done. "Do give the brigadier general my regards." 

"Would you prefer scathing, or generally ill-tempered?" Ed retorted, and couldn't help but note the twinkle of amusement in Bess' eyes; clearly, he was of the military sort who took Ed's insubordination in stride, which explained some why Grumman had trusted him to sign the notice about arresting Beardmore. 

Grumman's moustache trembled for a moment before he said, "Lieutenant Colonel, First Lieutenants, Private; with gratitude, you are dismissed." 

Ed obediently performed another perfect military salute – it was probably a record – with the other three, then led the way through the outer office – firmly ignoring the staff saluting them – and back out into the hallways of Command. "I hate the military," he muttered as he slowed down to a more normal pace. 

Evan tapped his new honour. "Harold's gonna shit himself," he said of his eldest brother, who had – according to Evan – spent all five years of his military career, so far, trying to avoid being singled out or promoted, though their father had managed to force him up to warrant officer. 

Ed snorted and ruffled his hair. "Are he and Arthur coming back to Central?" Because both of Evan's elder brothers had been a bit back-and-forth on the matter since Evan had filled them in, and he'd taken some leave in hopes that they'd come home and the whole family could talk. 

Evan sighed. "It sounds like Arthur will, but I dunno about Harold. Maybe hearing I got an award will have him rushing back, if only so he can sit me down and explain the dangers of becoming too noticeable." He shook his head and drooped slightly. "Like our father being a traitor hasn't already marked all of us for years." 

Ed gently bumped Evan's shoulder with his. "Remember what I said," he offered, referring back to an earlier conversation about what his father's treason meant for Evan and his brothers. "Anyone starts giving you shit, you send them to me and I'll straighten them out. Forcefully, if need be." 

Evan managed a smile. "I know. And if you can't straighten them out, you'll find someone who can." 

"Damn fucking right." 

Evan was quiet for a long moment, before grabbing Ed's shoulder as he stopped in the middle of the parade ground. "Ed?" 

Ed stopped with him, the two chimeras following suit a couple paces ahead. "What's up?" 

Evan took a step forward and wrapped his arms around Ed's neck, hugging him hard, and Ed didn't even have to think about it, found himself hugging him back just as tight. "Thanks," Evan whispered. 

"Any time," Ed promised, fully meant it; he would protect his squad, would be, as best he could, their advocate and strongest defence against whatever they came up against while in the military. He would be, for them, what Mustang had once been for him, was _still_ for him, when he needed his CO to step in and do what he lacked the political sense or rank to do. 

And perhaps it was time he learnt to use the shadow world he'd been thrust into. He'd ask Mustang what he could while they were in Ishval and relatively removed from those who listened at unguarded doorways. Because what good was his fame or that list of favours waiting for him to cash in, if he didn't use it for those people who stood with him? 

He pulled back, offered Evan a smile that, he hoped, showed none of his thoughts, and offered, "Want a ride back to your house?" 

Evan nodded and let out a quiet, knowing laugh. "You can change there, too, if you want to get out of your uniforms." He glanced at Heinkel and Darius, including them in the offer. 

"Knew I liked you, kid," Darius returned with a grin. 

Ed laughed and ruffled Evan's hair. "Come on, then. I wanna be well out of Central before we have to stop for dinner." 

"What is that supposed to imply?" Darius demanded. 

Ed winked at Evan, and the private joined him in laughing at Darius' expense as they led the way out of Command. 

-0-

"This," Darius commented after about forty minutes, "is not the way to Ishval." 

Ed flashed him a smile. "Good catch." 

Heinkel sighed and pulled out the map, as if that would really help them when Ed had gone off-road as soon as they'd passed the last of the estates clinging to Central, intending to meet up with the main road out to New Optain without having to skirt around the banks of Lake Rheos. "Ed," Heinkel said. 

Ed rolled his eyes. "We're getting lost." 

"...you're shitting me," Darius complained. 

" _Where_ are we getting lost?" Heinkel pressed, trying to trace their route on the map, while Darius peered back over the seat at him. "You're going north?" 

"I'm going east." 

"Have I ever mentioned how much I hate Twenty Questions?" Darius complained. 

Heinkel tapped against the map, the sound loud in the car, and Ed glanced up at the rear-view mirror, raising an eyebrow at his reflection. "One of your squad is in New Optain, and that second lieutenant is out in Youswell." 

"Morgan," Ed agreed, approving. "I promised Mayor Halling I'd get lost and pay them a visit next time I was in the east. Might as well field my squad's calls and answer any questions they have myself while we're out there, right?" 

"Does Mustang know we're not heading straight there?" Heinkel asked as he folded the map back up. 

Ed shrugged. "I told him I was going to take a detour. He should even know where, since he was there for my original conversation with Halling." 

"Fine." 

Ed rolled his eyes. "Who here's the commander?" 

"Heinkel," Darius informed him, and Ed didn't even need to look to know he was wearing a shit-eating grin. "I thought you knew that." 

"I'm gonna boot both of you out the fucking door," Ed muttered, and Darius laughed at him while Heinkel snorted. 

Ed sighed and resigned himself to never being taken seriously by his arsehole team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the first part of the _Our Sinner's Redemption_ series. As you can probably guess, the second part – titled _We All Need Saving_ – will involve some time in Ishval, and a great deal more Ed and Roy interactions.  
>  No word, yet, on when that will be going up, as I do have a policy of not posting until a fic is done, and I really want to work on getting my NaNo piece – titled _Reverti Ad Praeteritum_ , for those who care – finished (finally) and get that started posting before turning to focus properly on this series. Sorry. Sort of.


End file.
